0 


3. 


.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES, 


To  Faith  these  trips  were  a  novelty. 

The  Land  of  Strong-  Mea 


The  Land  of 
Strong  Men 


By  A.  M.  CHISHOLM 


With  Frontispiece 
By  FRANK  TENNEY  JOHNSON 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 
Publishers  New  York 

Published  by  arrangement  with  the  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 


Copyright,  1919,  by 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTERS 

I  Lost  and  Found        ..... 

II  A  Death  Bed       ...'.. 

III  Angus  Asserts  Himself 

IV  Judge  Riley — Drunk  and  Sober  , . 
V  Angus  in  Love  and  War      .      ... 

VI  Gain  and  Loss    .      .      .      .      .      . 

VII  The  Frenches  Again       .      .      .      . 

VIII  Old  Sam  Paul  Makes  a  Proposition 

IX  Dorgan 

X  Before  the  Race 

XI  A  Hold-up    .      .      .      .... 

XII  The  Race , 

XIII  Mainly  About  Chetwood     .      .      . 

XIV  A  Fight  with  a  Grizzly   ."._"..      . 
XV  Faith  Winton  Turns  Up      .      .      . 

XVI  A  Talk  with  Judge  Riley      .      .      . 

XVII  A  Crisis . 

XVIII  Christmas  at  the  Frenches    . 

XIX  Introducing  Mrs.  Foley  .... 

XX  An  Enemy  at  Work        .... 

XXI  Watching 

XXII  Brother  to  Brother 

XXIII  Faiths's  Farm 

XXIV  A  Demand  and  Answer  .... 
XXV  Cross  Currents 

XXVI  Conspiracy 

XXVII  While  Shelling  Peas 

XXVIII  Mrs.  Foley  on  Marriage       .      .      . 

XXIX  Sudden  Death 

XXX  Strangers  Ask  Questions 

XXXI  The  Auction 

XXXII  Chetwood  Unmasked 


PAGE 

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32 
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51 

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99 
108 

H5 
125 
136 

H3 
153 

159 
170 

183 
192 
202 

2IO 
217 
227 
236 
246 
258 
266 
276 
284 
290 
299 


O>-4!  *~r>Oj?^>^i  A 

<128611 


CHAPTERS 

XXXIII  Another  Surprise       .      . 

XXXIV  A  New  Complication     .      . 
XXXV  Braden  Misses  Some  Papers 

XXXVI  Turkey  Plays  a  Hand     .      . 

XXXVII  Duplicate  Deeds  .      .      .      . 

XXXVIII  Garland  Plays  a  Hand  .      . 

XXXIX  The  Turning  of  the  Screw  . 

XL  Signs  and  Omens 

XLI  Terror 

XLII  Outlaws!         

XLIII  Taking  the  Trail     .      .      . 

XLIV  The  Red  Avenger     .      .      . 

XLV  The  Great  Show-Down  . 

XLVI  Strong  Men 

XLVII  Peace 


PAGE 

308 
316 

325 

331 

34i 
347 
353 

359 

368 

380 
388 

399 
409 
418 

425 


The  Land  of  Strong 


M 


en 


CHAPTER  I 

LOST  AND    FOUND 

IT  was  light,  but  not  yet  day.  The  shadows  of  the 
night  seemed  to  linger,  to  retreat  with  reluctance; 
and  as  they  were  beaten  back  by  the  sun,  still  far 
below  the  eastern  curve  of  the  earth  and  further 
blockaded  by  giant  mountain  ranges  also  to  the  east- 
ward, the  clinging,  gray  morning  mists  of  early  Fall 
came  to  replace  them.  In  the  pallid  light,  a-swim 
with  vapor,  objects  loomed  gigantic  and  grotesque. 

The  house  which  stood  among  the  mists  was  of 
squared  timbers,  mortised  and  fitted.  It  was  un- 
painted,  and  the  interstices  were  neatly  filled  with 
plaster.  The  main  part  was  two  stories  in  height, 
but  back  of  this  and  joined  to  it  was  another  log 
building,  long  and  low.  Evidently  this  had  been 
the  original  dwelling,  to  which  the  more  pretentious 
structure  had  been  added.  From  one  window  of 
this  rear  building  a  light  glimmered. 

The  house  was  surrounded  and  in  summer  would 
be  shaded  by  trees,  cottonwoods  and  soft  maples; 
but  these  had  shed  most  of  their  leaves  and  the  ground 

9 


io        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

was  yellowed  with  them.  Close  beside  the  house 
ran  an  irrigation  ditch  in  which  clear  mountain  water 
purred  and  gurgled  softly.  To  the  south  loomed 
the  roofs  of  stables,  sheds,  high  corrals  and  stacks  of 
hay  and  straw.  Beyond  these  were  cleared,  level 
fields.  To  the  northward,  protected  to  some  extent 
by  the  buildings  and  trees,  was  a  small  orchard  in 
neat  rows. 

Now,  the  light  in  the  rear  window  went  out,  and 
a  moment  later  a  door  opened  and  a  boy  emerged. 
He  was  apparently  about  eighteen,  but  unusually 
tall  and  long  of  limb.  At  a  casual  glance  he  seemed 
to  run  to  legs  and  arms,  but  a  second  look  would 
have  shown  that  his  chest  was  broad  and  deep,  and 
that  his  apparent  ungainliness  was  due  to  age  merely. 
His  face,  naturally  dark,  was  tanned  to  the  color  of 
an  old  saddle.  The  cheekbones  were  high,  the  nose 
prominent,  the  mouth  straight  and  the  boyish  jaw 
firm.  The  eyes  were  dark,  steady  and  sombre,  shaded 
by  black  eyebrows  which  slashed  straight  across  the 
face,  meeting  above  the  nose.  The  darkness  of 
complexion,  the  heavy  brows,  the  straight  mouth 
conveyed  an  expression  almost  of  grimness.  The 
boy  wore  a  battered  felt  hat,  a  fawn  mackinaw  coat, 
pants  thrust  into  high  socks  and  a  pair  of  moosehide 
moccasins.  In  his  right  hand  he  carried  a  rifle,  in 
his  left  a  small  cotton  bag.  The  wooden  handle  of 
a  knife  stuck  from  a  jam-sheath  in  his  belt. 

For  a  moment  he  stood  sniffling  the  morning  air 
like  a  dog,  and  then  with  a  light  swiftness  which 
gave  the  lie  to  his  apparent  ungainliness,  made  for 
the  stables.  In  a  few  moments  he  led  out  a  brown 
pony.  He  tied  the  cotton  bag  to  the  cantle,  thrust 
the  rifle  into  a  saddle  holster  and  swung  up. 


LOST  AND  FOUND  n 

As  he  did  so  there  was  the  sound  of  running  feet, 
and  a  girl  sped  toward  him  from  the  house. 

"Angus !  Wait  a  minute !"  she  cried.  She  was 
apparently  a  couple  of  years  younger  than  the  boy, 
slim,  brown  of  hair,  eye,  and  face,  delicate  of  feature. 
She  held  out  a  paper-wrapped  parcel.  "Here's  some 
doughnuts  for  your  lunch,"  she  said. 

But  the  boy  frowned  down  at  her.  "I've  got 
my  lunch,"  he  said  tapping  the  cotton  bag.  In  it 
there  was  bread  and  cold  meat,  which  he  esteemed 
manly  fare. 

"But  you  like  doughnuts,"  said  the  girl,  "and  I 
thought — I  thought — " 

Her  eyes  filled  with  moisture  which  was  not  that 
of  the  mists,  and  the  boy  either  because  of  that  or 
affected  by  the  silent  argument  of  the  doughnuts, 
relented. 

"Oh,  well,  give  'em  here,"  he  said,  and  dismount- 
ing untied  the  bag,  thrust  in  the  doughnuts,  made 
all  fast  again  and  remounted.  "Tell  father  I'll  be 
back  in  time  to  feed  the  stock  tonight." 

"Yes,  Angus.     I  hope  you'll  get  a  deer." 

"Sure,  I'll  get  one,"  the  boy  replied  confidently. 
A  thought  seemed  to  strike  him.  "Oh,  thanks  for  the 
doughnuts." 

The  girl  beamed  at  this  belated  recognition.  She 
felt  fully  repaid  for  both  the  cooking  and  the  early 
rising.  For  when  a  brother  is  going  hunting  natur- 
ally his  thoughts  are  far  above  such  things  as  dough- 
nuts and  younger  sisters.  Recognizing  the  propriety 
of  this  she  turned  back  to  the  house. 

The  boy  rode  fast.  He  passed  the  boundaries 
of  the  ranch,  followed  a  road  for  a  mile  and  then, 
turning  into  a  beaten  cattle  trail,  headed  eastward 


12        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

toward  the  flanks  of  a  mountain  range  showing  be- 
neath the  skirts  of  the  rising  mist. 

The  trail  wound  sinuously,  rising  from  benchland 
to  benchland,  but  the  boy  stuck  to  it,  for  he  knew  that 
cattle  invariably  choose  the  easiest  way.  Also  he 
knew  the  country  so  near  home  like  a  book,  or  rather 
better  than  he  knew  any  written  books.  To  him  the 
land,  lying  as  yet  much  as  it  came  from  the  hands 
of  the  Creator,  carried  more  messages  and  held  more 
interesting  things  than  any  printed  pages.  Grouse 
scuttled  aside  or  rose  with  a  roar  of  wings,  and  the 
boy  eyed  them  regretfully.  Once  he  caught  sight 
of  a  coyote,  an  arrogant,  bushy-tailed  youngster 
which,  apparently  knowing  that  he  was  in  a  hurry, 
stood  in  full  view  watching  him.  Once  he  stopped 
short  at  a  momentary  glimpse  of  something  in.  thick 
bush.  But  as  he  did  not  see  it  again,  he  rode  on. 

While  he  still  rode  in  the  shadow  of  the  eastern 
hills,  the  sun  from  behind  them  struck  the  face  of 
the  western  range  ten  miles  or  more  across  Fire 
Valley.  Behind  that  again  it  glinted  on  peaks  still 
capped  with  the  snows  of  the  previous  winter.  The 
sunshine  moved  downward  to  the  valley  and  east- 
ward across  it  in  a  marching  swath  of  gold.  In  that 
clear,  thin  air  to  the  keen  eyes  of  the  boy,  peaks  and 
rocks  and  even  trees  miles  away  were  sharply  defined. 
Below  him  was  a  lake,  pale  silver  where  the  mists 
that  still  clung  to  its  surface  had  parted.  Half  an 
hour  later  it  would  take  on  the  wondrous  blue  of 
mountain  waters.  But  the  boy  did  not  care  for  that, 
nor  just  then  for  the  great  unfolding  panorama  of 
rolling,  timber-clad  hills,  bare,  gray  peaks  and  blue 
sky.  He  was  an  hour  late  and,  as  everybody  knows, 
the  early  morning  is  the  best  time  to  hunt. 


LOST  AND  FOUND  13 

He  had  intended  to  enter  a  pass  leading  into  the 
hills  and  turn  from  it  up  a  big  draw  which  lie  knew 
held  blacktail,  but  he  gave  up  the  idea  and  turned 
along  the  base  of  the  mountain.  He  was  now  in 
a  country  of  jackpine  with  huge,  scattered,  gloomy 
firs  and  chumps  of  cottonwood.  Numerous  little 
spring-fed  creeks  ran  through  it,  and  there  were 
rocky  coulees  and  small  ponds.  It  was  an  ideal 
country  for  whitetail.  There  the  boy  dismounted, 
hung  his  saddle  from  a  tree  out  of  the  reach  of  a 
possible  porcupine,  and  put  his  pony  on  a  rope.  He 
glanced  around  mechanically,  noting  the  exact  posi- 
tion and  registering  landmarks.  Then  he  levered 
a  cartridge  into  the  chamber  of  his  rifle,  dropped  the 
hammer  to  half  cock,  tucked  the  weapon  under  his 
arm  and  struck  off  parallel  with  the  base  of  the 
mountain. 

In  motion  the  impression  of  awkwardness  vanished. 
He  walked  with  the  peculiar  straight-footed,  bent- 
kneed  slouch  which  is  the  distinctive  mark  of  the 
woodsman  and  moccasin  wearer;  and  is,  moreover, 
extremely  easy  because  the  weight  of  the  body 
cushions  on  the  natural  shock-absorbers,  the  ball  of 
the  foot  and  the  bend  of  the  knee,  and  so  is  quite  a 
different  method  of  locomotion  from  the  ordinary 
heel-jarring  stride.  Also  it  is  much  faster  than  it 
looks.  And  so  the  boy  moved  easily  and  silently,  his 
moccasined  feet  automatically  avoiding  sticks  and 
loose  stones. 

He  did  not  hurry.  Now  and  then  he  stopped,  his 
eyes  keen  as  a  young  hawk's  fixed  on  some  ill-defined 
object,  and  he  remained  absolutely  motionless  until 
it  defined  itself  to  his  gaze.  Occasionally  he  inspected 
the  soft  ground,  but  though  he  saw  many  impressions 


14        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

of  the  hoofs  of  deer  he  paid  little  attention  to  them. 
He  followed  the  only  practical  method  of  still- 
hunting,  prowling  along  quietly  and  watchfully. 

But  luck  seemed  against  him.  Twice,  in  spite  of  his 
care,  he  heard  the  thumping  beat  which  told  that  deer, 
alarmed,  were  making  a  get-away,  but  he  did  not  see 
them.  Being  pardonably  proud  of  his  eyes  and  his 
ability  to  move  quietly,  the  boy  was  disgusted.  Noon 
came  and  he  had  no  meat.  He  sat  down  by  a  spring 
which  gushed  cold  from  the  base  of  a  hill,  and  ate 
his  bread  and  meat  and  two  doughnuts.  Of  the  lat- 
ter four  remained.  These  he  saved  against  an  emer- 
gency, and  stretching  himself  on  a  patch  of  yellow, 
sun-dried  grass  went  to  sleep  like  a  young  dog. 

In  an  hour  he  awoke,  stretched  himself,  drank 
from  the  spring  and  circling  toward  the  mountain 
began  to  work  back  toward  his  pony.  He  had  cov- 
ered perhaps  half  the  return  distance  when  he  came 
suddenly  upon  a  young  buck.  At  the  same  time  the 
buck  caught  sight  of  him  and  set  sail  for  the  protec- 
tion of  thick  brush. 

Though  taken  by  surprise,  the  boy  was  unflurried. 
He  planted  his  feet  solidly,  swung  his  rifle  swiftly 
but  without  hurry,  caught  the  leaping  form  fair  with 
the  bead  and  squeezed  the  trigger.  A  second  time 
the  rifle  rapped  on  the  heels  of  its  own  echo,  and  the 
buck  pitched  forward  sprawling,  the  stiffening  gone 
from  his  slim  limbs  which  kicked  convulsively. 

But  instead  of  running  forward  eagerly,  the  boy 
scarcely  shifted  his  position  as  he  pumped  another 
cartridge  into  place.  As  the  deer  did  not  rise  he  fed 
two  fresh  shells  to  the  magazine  methodically.  There 
was  no  youthful  triumph  in  his  face.  Instead  it 
showed  a  certain  dissatisfaction. 


LOST  AND  FOUND  15 

"Ought  to  have  downed  him  first  shot,"  he  mut- 
tered, and  went  forward.  He  turned  the  deer  over 
finding  that  the  first  bullet  had  stuck  too  far  back. 
Laying  the  rifle  aside  he  stuck  the  animal  and  pro- 
ceeded to  dress  him.  Completing  his  task  he  rose  and 
scanned  the  brush  thirty  yards  away  for  a  convenient 
sapling  on  which  to  hang  his  meat. 

As  he  looked,  his  eye  was  arrested  by  a  movement 
in  the  bushes  of  something  dun  or  brown.  Without 
taking  his  eyes  from  the  spot  he  stooped  for  his  rifle, 
cocked  it  and  advanced  slowly. 

When  he  was  within  thirty  feet  of  the  bushes  they 
shook,  and  the  boy  halted,  throwing  his  rifle  forward, 
the  butt  halfway  to  his  shoulders.  Then,  from  the 
sEelter  of  the  bushes  out  stepped  a  girl. 

She  was  apparently  several  years  younger  than  the 
boy,  slight,  straight,  fair  of  hair,  with  clear  blue  eyes 
which,  however,  seemed  a  little  puffy  and  reddened. 
Her  face,  too,  was  streaked  as  with  tears,  and  one 
sheer  stocking  was  torn  so  that  the  flesh  peeped 
through.  She  held  her  arms  straight  by  her  sides, 
her  fists  gripped  tight.  Plainly  she  was  frightened, 
but  though  her  mouth  quivered  a  little  she  looked  the 
boy  straight  in  the  face. 

If  it  had  been  a  grizzly  he  would  have  been  less 
surprised.  The  girl  was  a  stranger  and,  moreover, 
her  dress  of  neat  brown  linen,  her  shoes,  and  even  the 
sheer,  torn  stockings,  showed  that  she  did  not  belong 
in  that  neighborhood. 

"Hallo.''  he  said.  She  gave  a  little,  gasping  sigh 
of  relief. 

"Why,"  she  said,  "you're  just  a  white  boy."  She 
spoke  with  a  faint  little  lisp,  which  was  really  entic- 
ing. But  her  words  did  not  please  the  boy  who  priv- 


1 6        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

ately  considered  himself  a  good  deal  of  a  man. 

"What  did  you  think  I  was?"  he  asked  in  as  gruff 
a  voice  as  he  could  attain. 

"I  thought  you  were  an  In-di-an,"  she  said,  pro- 
nouncing the  word  in  syllables;  "a  growed-up — 1 
mean  a  grown-up-In-di-an." 

Having  known  Indians  all  his  life  the  boy  found 
her  words  unflattering.  "What  made  you  think 
that?"  he  queried. 

"Because  you  looked  so  black  and  bloody,"  she 
told  him  frankly. 

The  boy  was  disgusted.  What  business  had  this 
girl  to  call  him  black?  "What's  a  kid  like  you  doing 
away  out  here?"  he  demanded  severely.  And  he 
added  wickedly:  "Don't  you  know  these  woods  are 
full  of  grizzlies  and  cougars  and  wolves?  It's  a 
wonder  you  weren't  eaten  alive." 

The  girl  shivered  and  glanced  fearfully  back  into 
the  gloom  of  the  firs. 

"I  didn't  mean  to  get  lost,  really." 

"Lost,  are  you?" 

"I  was,"  she  said,  "but  now,  of  course,  you've 
found  me.  I'm  not  afraid  now,  because  I  know  you 
wouldn't  let  anything  hurt  me." 

At  this  belated  tribute  to  his  manhood  the  boy's 
expression  softened. 

"Well,  I  guess  you're  safe  now,"  he  admitted. 
"How  did  you  get  lost,  and  where  from?" 

"I  got  lost  from  Uncle  Godfrey's  ranch." 

"Do  you  mean  old  Godfrey  French's  ranch?" 

"I  mean  Mr.  Godfrey  French's  ranch,"  she  cor- 
rected him.  "You'll  take  me  there,  won't  you,  like 
a  nice  boy?" 

The  boy  snorted.  The  ranch  in  question  was  nearly 


LOST  AND  FOUND  17 

ten  miles  distant.  Of  course  she  would  ride  his  pony. 
He  did  not  in  the  least  mind  the  walking,  but  it  meant 
that  he  would  have  to  leave  the  deer  until  the  next 
day,  and  meat  was  needed  at  home.  However,  there 
was  no  help  for  it. 

"I  suppose  I'll  have  to,"  he  said  with  the  candor 
of  his  age.  "How  did  you  get  lost?" 

Her  explanation  was  commonplace.  She  had  gone 
for  a  ride  in  the  morning,  and  the  mountains  had 
seemed  closer  than  they  were.  Tiring  she  had  dis- 
mounted, and  had  been  unable  to  catch  her  pony. 
She  had  followed  him  until  finally  he  had  disappeared, 
by  which  time  she  was  hopelessly  confused. 

"Then,"  she  said,  "I  walked  and  walked,  and  I 
found  a  lot  of  paths,  but  they  didn't  seem  to  go 
anywhere.  I — I  was  frightened.  And  then  I  heard 
two  shots  and  I  ran  as  hard  as  could,  and  when  I 
saw  you  I  was  frightened  again.  But  now  of  course 
it's  all  right." 

The  boy  grunted.  It  was  just  like  a  girl  to  let 
her  pony  get  away,  and  get  lost,  and  follow  cattle 
trails  all  over  the  country  instead  of  taking  her  bear- 
ings and  striking  for  home  as  any  intelligent  being 
would  have  done.  Girls  were  fools,  anyway.  They 
were  always  getting  into  trouble,  and  dumping  them- 
selves down  on  a  man  to  be  looked  after.  If  old 
Godfrey  French  was  her  uncle,  why  in  blazes  didn't 
some  of  the  French  boys  take  care  of  this  kid?  They 
hadn't  anything  else  to  do. 

The  boy  had  little  or  no  use  for  the  French  family, 
which  held  itself  a  little  aloof  from  most  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  district.  It  consisted  of  Godfrey 
French,  his  four  sons  and  one  daughter.  The  sons 
were  young  men.  They  were  all  big,  powerful  young 


1 8        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

fellows,  and  one  of  them,  Gavin,  was  reputed  to  be 
the  strongest  man  in  the  neighborhood.  The  daugh- 
ter, a  long-limbed  slip  of  a  girl  who  rode  like  a  cow- 
puncher,  was  about  the  boy's  age.  Though  Godfrey 
French  had  a  ranch  it  was  worked  scarcely  at  all. 
The  boys  did  not  like  work,  and  apparently  did  not 
have  to.  Godfrey  French  was  reputed  to  have  money. 
His  ranch  was  a  hangout  for  what  were  known  as 
"remittance  men",  young  Englishmen  who  received 
more  or  less  regular  allowances  from  home — or  per- 
haps to  keep  away  from  home.  There  were  rumors 
of  gambling  and  hard  drinking  at  French's  ranch. 

"Well,  I'll  take  you  home,"  the  boy  said.  "You 
can  ride  my  pony.  He's  on  a  rope  a  mile  from  here. 
But  I'll  have  to  hang  up  this  buck,  or  the  coyotes  will 
chew  him." 

He  found  two  small  saplings  close  together,  bent 
them  down,  trimmed  them  and  lashed  their  tops. 
Over  these  he  placed  the  tied  legs  of  the  buck.  With 
a  little  search  he  found  a  long  dry  pole.  With  this 
he  had  a  tripod.  As  he  hoisted  with  the  pole  the 
spring  of  the  saplings  raised  the  buck,  which  dangled 
clear,  out  of  reach  of  all  four-footed  marauders.  The 
girl  watched  him,  wide-eyed.  To  her  it  seemed  a 
marvellously  clever  piece  of  engineering. 

"Well,  now  we'll  be  going,"  the  boy  announced. 
He  started  at  his  ordinary  pace,  but  reduced  it 
immediately  because  she  seemed  very  tired.  Coming 
to  a  creek  she  hesitated  and  stopped. 

"Won't  you  wash  your  face  and  hands,  please?" 
she  said. 

The  boy  stared  at  her,  but  washed  obediently. 
So  did  she,  and  began  to  dry  her  face  with  a  tiny 
handkerchief  at  which  the  boy  cast  a  glance  of  con- 


LOST  AND  FOUND  19 

tempt.  He  drew  forth  his  own,  which  was  two  feet 
square,  and  originally  had  been  figured  in  red  and 
yellow,  but  unfortunately  the  two  colors  had  run 
together. 

"Here,  take  this,"  he  said.  But  the  girl  looked 
at  the  variegated  square  suspiciously. 

"No,  thank  you.  I'm  afraid  it's  not  san — sanitary." 

"It  ain't — what?"  the  boy  queried. 

"I  mean  it's  not  clean." 

"Sure  it's  clean,"  he  returned  indignantly.  "You're 
mighty  particular,  seems  to  me.  Struck  by  a  sudden 
thought  he  took  the  remains  of  his  lunch  from  his 
pocket  and  opened  it,  exposing  four  sadly  crushed 
doughnuts.  "I  don't  s'pose  you'd  eat  these,  would 
you?  Maybe  they  ain't  sanitary  enough." 

But  the  girl  who  had  had  nothing  to  eat  since 
morning,  eyed  the  delicacies  longingly. 

"I — I'll  take  one,  thank  you." 

"Eat  the  bunch,"  said  the  boy  generously.  "I've 
had  all  I  want.  Sit  down  and  rest.  There's  no 
rush." 

The  girl  sat  down,  munching  the  crushed  dough- 
nuts with  keen  enjoyment,  while  the  boy  stretched 
on  the  grass,  his  head  pillowed  in  his  locked  hands 
watched  her  curiously.  Looking  up  she  met  his 
gaze. 

"They're  awfully  good,"  she  said.  "Did  your 
mother  make  them?" 

"My  mother  is  dead.  Jean  made  'em.  She's  my 
sister." 

"What  is  your  name,  please?" 

"My  full  name  is  Angus  Struan  Mackay." 

"How  do  you  spell  it?" 

"M-a-c-k-a-y." 


20        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"But  k-a-y  spells  'K'.  Why  do  you  pronounce  your 
name  'McKi'?" 

"Because  it  is,'*  young  Mackay  replied  with 
finality. 

"How  many  brothers  and  sisters  have  you?" 

"There's  just  father,  and  Jean  and  Turkey  and 
me." 

"  'Turkey'  !"  she  exclaimed.  "What  a  funny 
name!  Is  it  a  boy  or  a  girl?" 

"His  real  name  is  Torquil,"  young  Angus  ex- 
plained, "after  my  grandfather.  He's  just  a  kid, 
like  you.  What  is  your  own  name?" 

"I  am  Faith  Winton." 

"Faith  Winton  French?" 

"No,  just  Winton.  Uncle  Godfrey  isn't  really  my 
uncle.  That  is,  he  is  my  mother's  uncle  by  marriage. 
My  mother  is  dead,  too.  My  father  is  Sewell  Win- 
ton." 

She  stated  the  fact  proudly ;  but  the  boy  was  unim- 
pressed. 

"What  does  your  father  do  for  a  living?"  he 
asked. 

"My  father  is  a  great  artist." 

"Is  that  so,"  said  young  Mackay.  "You  mean  he 
paints  pictures?" 

"Of  course  he  does — great  pictures.  But  I  sup- 
pose, living  here,  you've  never  seen  them."  Her 
tone  expressed  pity. 

"I've  never  seen  painted  pictures  that  looked  like 
anything  at  all,"  Angus  Mackay  returned  with  con- 
tempt. "There  was  a  teacher  at  our  school  that 
painted  things,  but  you  could  not  tell  what  it  was  all 
about.  She  would  paint  what  she  would  call  a  cow, 
but  it  would  look  like  a  horse,  all  but  the  horns,  and 


21 

a  poor  horse,  too.  Has  your  father  come  here  to 
paint?" 

"No,  he  isn't  well.  He  thought  the  change  might 
do  him  good,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to.  We  are  going 
away  in  a  few  days." 

But  young  Mackay  was  not  interested  in  the  pain- 
ter's health,  nor  was  he  specially  interested  in  the 
painter's  daughter.  His  immediate  object  now  that 
she  had  finished  the  doughnuts  was  to  get  her 
off  his  hands.  And  so  he  set  a  good  pace  toward 
his  pony,  saddled,  shortened  the  stirrups  and  helped 
the  girl  up.  No  longer  restrained  by  her  inability 
to  keep  up  with  his  stride,  he  struck  a  swift,  swinging 
gait  which  was  faster  than  the  pony's  walk.  He 
paid  little  or  no  attention  to  girl  or  pony.  It  was 
their  business  to  keep  up  with  him.  He  led  the  way 
without  hesitation,  around  -sloughs,  down  coulees, 
through  timber.  When  they  had  been  traveling  thus 
for  an  hour  or  more  he  stopped  suddenly. 

"Somebody  is  shouting,"  he  said.  "It  will  be  your 
people  looking  for  you,  likely.  We  will  just  wait 
here.  You  had  better  get  down,  for  I  am  going  to 
shoot  and  he  might  not  stand  still." 

He  fired  three  shots  close  together,  and  after  an 
interval  three  more.  Soon  afterward  they  could 
hear  a  distant  whoop.  Mackay  answered,  and  in  a 
few  minutes  the  search  party  which  had  been  strung 
out  combing  benches  and  coulees,  began  to  converge 
upon  them. 

First  came  Kathleen  French,  a  dark-haired,  blue- 
eyed  girl  sitting  astride  a  slashing,  blaze-faced  sorrel, 
and  following  her,  her  three  brothers,  Blake,  Gerald 
and  Lawrence,  the  latter  leading  the  pony  which  had 
evaded  Faith  Winton.  The  pony  had  come  in,  it 


22        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

appeared,  with  the  saddle  twisted  down  under  its 
belly  and  kicked  to  flinders,  and  the  Frenches  had 
united  in  blaming  Larry,  the  youngest,  who  had  given 
Faith  the  pony  and  saddled  it  for  her. 

uAnd  lucky  for  you  she  wasn't  hurt,"  Blake  told 
him.  He  was  a  big,  powerfully  built  man,  with  a 
heavy,  florid  face  which  was  already  beginning  to 
show  signs  of  the  life  he  led.  "If  she'd  been  smashed 
up  you'd  have  got  yours." 

Larry,  a  rangy,  hawk-faced  youngster,  eyed  his 
brother  insolently.  "I  would,  hey!  Well,  not  from 
you,  and  you  can  make  a  note  of  that." 

"Shut  up!"  said  the  sister.  "Quit  your  scrap- 
ping. We  may  as  well  be  drifting.  Climb  up  on 
this  pony,  Faith." 

Faith  Winton  held  out  her  hand.  "Good-by,  An- 
gus Mackay.  And  thank  you  so  much  for  finding 
me,  and  for  the  ride,  and  for  the  doughnuts." 

Young  Mackay  shooks  hands  limply.  "That  is 
all  right,"  he  said,  embarrassed.  But  Kathleen 
French  was  reminded  of  an  omission. 

"We're  a  nice  lot!"  she  exclaimed.  "Not  one  of 
us  has  thanked  him  for  looking  after  Faith.  Well 
/  do,  anyway.  It  was  good  of  you,  Angus  Mackay." 

"Oh,  sure,"  Gerald  French  concurred  carelessly. 
Not  so  heavily  built  as  his  brother  Blake,  he  was  as 
tall  and  finer  drawn.  His  face  was  oval,  his  eyes 
dark  and  lazy,  and  his  voice  a  drawl.  "Thanks, 
Mackay." 

"Ditto,"  said  young  Larry. 

Blake  French,  reaching  into  his  pocket  pulled  out 
a  roll  of  currency  and  stripped  off  a  bill.  "No,  no, 
Cousin  Blake!"  Faith  Winton!  exclaimed,  but  he 
held  it  out  to  the  boy. 


LOST  AND  FOUND  23 

"Here  you  are,  Mackay.  That's  better  than 
thanks.  I  guess  you  can  use  it." 

But  the  boy  made  no  movement  to  take  the  money. 
"I  was  not  bringing  her  home  for  money,  nor  for 
thanks  either,"  he  said  uncompromisingly. 

Blake  laughed  loudly.  "I  never  heard  of  a  Mac- 
kay refusing  money." 

The  boy  scowled  at  him.  "There  will  be  other 
things  you  have  not  heard  of,"  he  said  coldly. 

Blake  French  stared  at  him,  and  laughed  again. 

"Well,  give  him  a  kiss,  Faith.  Maybe  that's  what 
he'd  like.  Or  has  he  had  it?" 

"Cousin  Blake,  you're  horrid!"  the  girl  cried  in- 
dignantly. 

"The  kid  isn't  used  to  talk  like  that,  Blake," 
Kathleen  told  him.  "Have  some  sense." 

"Where  would  he  get  it?"  young  Larry  asked  in- 
solently. For  answer  his  brother  cursed  him. 

"Cut  that  out,  Blake,"  Gerald  drawled,  but  his 
tone  was  edged. 

"Then  let  that  young  pup  keep  a  civil  tongue  in 
his  head,"  Blake  growled. 

"Pup,  hey?"  said  young  Larry.  "Well,  I'll  never 
make  a  yellow  dog,  anyway."  The  insinuation  was 
obvious.  Blake's  face  blackened  with  fury,  but 
wheeling  his  horse  he  rode  off  after  the  girls.  Ger- 
ald and  Larry  with  brief  nods  to  young  Mackay, 
followed. 

The  latter  stood  looking  after  them,  his  heavy 
brows  drawn  in  a  frown.  Then,  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  he  lengthened  his  stirrups  and  swung 
up  on  his  pony. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  DEATH   BED 

DECIDING  that  it  was  too  late  to  go  back  after 
the  deer,  Angus  headed  for  home.     The  sun 
was  down  when  he  struck  into  a  wagon  trail  a 
couple  of  miles  from  the  ranch,  and  he  had  followed 
it  but  a  few  hundred  yards  when  he  heard  the  sound 
of  hoofs  behind  him.     Turning  in  his  saddle  he  rec- 
ognized horse  and  rider  which  were  overhauling  him 
rapidly. 

"What's  the  rush,  Dave?"  he  asked  as  they  drew 
level. 

Whatever  the  rush  had  been  it  seemed  to  be  over. 
The  rider  slowed  to  a  walk.  He  was  a  small  man, 
apparently  in  the  forties,  wiry  and  sun-dried.  His 
name  was  Rennie,  and  he  was  nominally  a  home- 
steader, though  he  did  little  more  than  comply  with 
the  statutory  requirements.  In  winter  he  trapped 
and  in  summer  he  turned  his  hand  to  almost  anything. 
He  was  a  wizard  with  horses,  he  knew  the  habits 
of  most  wild  animals  thoroughly  and  he  had  seen 
a  great  deal  of  the  old  West.  He  and  young  Mac- 
kay  were  friends,  and  he  had  taught  the  boy  many 
things  from  his  own  store  of  experience.  As  he 
pulled  up,  the  boy  noted  that  Blaze's  bright  coat  was 
dark  with  sweat  and  that  his  head  hung  wearily. 

"You've  been  combing  some  speed  out  of  that 
cayuse,"  he  commented. 

"He's  been  on  grass  and  lathers  easy,"  Rennie 
returned.  "But  I  was — I  was  sorter  lookin'  for  you, 
kid." 

24 


A  DEATH  BED  25 

"Why?" 

"Well,  you  see — your  daddy  he  wants  you." 

"He  knew  I  was  hunting.  I  got  a  two-year  old 
buck,  but  it  was  too  late  to  pack  him  in.  What  does 
he  want  me  for?" 

The  question  seemed  to  embarrass  Rennie  exceed- 
ingly. He  gulped  and  went  into  a  fit  of  coughing 
which  left  him  red  in  the  face. 

"He  wants  to  talk  to  you,"  he  replied  at  last. 
"He — he  wants  to  tell  you  something,  I  guess.  He — 
he  ain't  right  well,  your  daddy  ain't." 

"Not  well!"  the  boy  cried  in  amazement.  "Why, 
what's  the  matter  with  him,  Dave?" 

"A  little  accident — just  a  little  accident,  kid.  He — 
he — now  you  don't  want  to  go  worryin'  about  it; 
not  yet,  anyway." 

But  Rennie's  effort  to  break  bad  news  gently  was 
too  obvious.  The  boy's  voice  took  on  a  sharp  note 
of  alarm. 

"What  sort  of  an  accident?"  he  demanded.  "Is 
he  hurt?  Talk  up,  can't  you?" 

"Well,  now,  durn  it,  kid,  I'd  ruther  break  a  leg 
than  tell  you — but  your  daddy,  he's  been  shot  up 
some." 

"Do  you  mean  he's  dead?"  the  boy  cried  in  wide- 
eyed  horror. 

"No,  he  ain't  dead — or  he  wasn't  when  I  started 
out  to  find  you.  But — but  he's  plugged  plumb  center, 
and — and —  Oh,  hell,  I  guess  you  know  what  I'm 
tryin'  to  say!" 

The  boy  stared  at  him  dumbly  while  the  slow  thud- 
ding pad  of  the  horses'  feet  on  the  soft  trail  smote 
on  his  ears  like  the  sound  of  muffled  drums.  He 
failed  at  first,  as  the  young  must  ever  fail,  to  com- 


26        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

prehend  the  full  meaning  of  the  message.  His 
father  dead  or  dying!  His  father,  Adam  Mackay, 
that  living  tower  of  muscle  and  sinew  who  could 
lift  with  his  hands  logs  with  which  other  men 
struggled  with  cant-hook  and  peavie,  who  could 
throw  a  steel-beamed  breaking  plow  aboard  a  wagon 
as  another  man  would  handle  a  wheel-hoe?  It  was 
unbelievable. 

But  slowly  the  realization  was  forced  upon  him. 
His  father  had  been  shot,  and  with  the  knowledge 
came  the  flame  of  bitter  anger  and  desire  for  revenge 
that  was  his  in  right  of  the  blood  in  his  veins.  And 
the  desire  momentarily  overwhelmed  sorrow. 

"Who  did  it?"  he  asked,  his  young  voice  a  fierce, 
croaking  whisper. 

"I  dunno.  He  won't  tell  anybody.  Maybe  he'll 
tell  you." 

"Come  on !"  Angus  Mackay  cried,  and  dug  heels 
into  his  pony. 

The  pony  was  blown  and  gasping  as  they  rode  up 
to  the  ranch  and  Angus  leaped  from  his  back.  Ren- 
nie's  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

"Kid,"  he  said  earnestly,  "you  want  to  brace  up 
and  keep  braced.  If  it's  a  showdown  for  your 
daddy  he'll  like  to  know  you're  takin'  it  like  a  man. 
Then  there's  Jean  and  Turkey.  This  here  happens 
to  everybody,  and  while  it's  tough  it's  a  part  of  the 
game.  And  just  one  more  thing :  If  you  find  out  who 
done  the  shootin',  let  me  know !" 

The  boy  nodded,  because  he  could  not  trust  him- 
self to  speak,  and  ran  into  the  house.  It  was  hushed 
in  the  twilight.  Already  it  seemed  to  hold  a  little 
of  the  strange  stillness  which  comes  with  the  depart- 
ure of  a  familiar  presence.  As  the  boy  paused,  from 


A  DEATH  BED  27 

a  corner  came  a  little,  sniffling  sob,  and  in  the  semi- 
darkness  he  saw  his  young  brother,  Torquil,  curled 
miserably  upon  a  skin-covered  couch.  Paying  no 
attention  to  him  he  crossed  the  living  room  and  as 
he  did  so  his  sister  Jean  entered.  In  some  mysterious 
way  she  seemed  years  older  than  the  girl-child  who 
had  come  running  after  him  in  the  gray  mists  of  that 
morning.  Dry-eyed,  slender,  quiet-moving,  like  the 
shadow  of  a  girl  in  the  gloom,  she  led  him  back  and 
closed  the  door.  He  obeyed  her  touch  without  ques- 
tion, without  a  trace  of  his  superiority  of  the  morn- 
ing. In  face  of  sickness  and  death,  like  most  of  his 
sex  he  felt  helpless,  impotent.  He  put  his  long  arm 
around  his  sister  and  suddenly  she  clung  to  him,  her 
slender  body  shaking. 

"He's  not— dead— Jean?" 

"Not — not  yet,  Angus.  Dr.  Wilkes  is  with  him 
now.  He  says  he  won't  live  long.  He  didn't  want 
to  tell  me,  but  I  made  him." 

She  told  him  all  she  knew.  Adam  Mackay  had  rid- 
den away  by  himself  that  morning,  no  one  knew 
whither.  In  the  afternoon  he  had  come  home  sway- 
ing in  his  saddle,  shot  through  the  body.  Then  young 
Turkey  has  climbed  into  the  blood-soaked  saddle  and 
ridden  for  the  doctor.  As  to  how  he  had  met  with 
his  hurt  Adam  Mackay  had  said  no  word. 

The  inner  door  opened  to  admit  a  burly,  thick- 
bodied  man  with  reddish  hair  sprinkled  with  gray 
and  grizzled,  bushy  eye-brows.  This  was  Dr.  Wilkes. 
He  nodded  to  Angus. 

"You're  in  time.  Your  father  wants  you.  Go  to 
3iim,  and  call  me  if  anything  happens." 

"He's  going  to — going  to — " 

The  boy  was  unable  to  complete  the  sentence.  The 


28        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

doctor  put  his  arm  over  his  shoulder  for  a  moment 
in  a  kindly,  elder-brotherly  touch. 

"I'm  afraid  so,  my  boy.  In  fact,  I  know  so.  Keep 
a  stiff  upper  lip,  old  man.  He'll  like  that." 

Adam  Mackay  stared  at  his  eldest  son  hungrily 
from  the  pillows.  Above  his  great  black  beard  his 
face  was  gray.  He  was  a  great  frame  of  a  man, 
long,  lean  and  sinewy.  The  likeness  of  father  and 
son  was  marked.  He  held  out  his  hand  feebly  and 
the  boy  took  it  and  choked.  Then  Adam  Mackay 
spoke  in  a  little  whisper  so  unlike  his  usual  deep 
voice  that  the  boy  was  startled,  and  because  it  was 
near  the  end  with  him  his  words  carried  the  sharp 
twist  and  hiss  of  the  Gaelic  which  was  the  tongue  of 
his  youth;  for  though  Adam  Mackay  had  never  seen 
Scotland,  he  had  been  born  in  a  settlement  which, 
fifty  years  before,  was  more  Gaelic  than  the  High- 
lands themselves. 

"It  cannot  be  helped,  son,  and  it  is  little  I  care 
for  myself.  When  you  come  to  face  death,  many 
years  from  now,  please  the  God,  you'll  find  it  no'  sic' 
a  fearful  thing.  But  it  is  you  and  the  children  that 
worries  me  now,  Angus." 

"Never  mind  us,  father,"  the  boy  said.  "I  can 
look  after  Jean  and  Turkey." 

The  stricken  giant  smiled  at  him  with  a  quiet 
pride  of  which  the  recollection  years  after  warmed 
the  boy's  heart. 

"I  had  hoped  for  twenty  years  of  life  yet,  by  which 
time  you  would  have  been  settled,  with  children  of 
your  own.  Eh,  well,  the  young  birds  must  fle'dge 
and  fly  alone,  and  your  wings  are  well  sprouted, 
Angus-lad.  You  have  in  you  the  makings  of  a  man, 
though  yet  headstrong  and  dour  by  nature.  And 


A  DEATH  BED  29 

now  listen,  son,  for  my  time  is  short :  I  look  to  you 
to  take  the  place  I  can  no  longer  fill.  You  are 
the  Mackay,  the  head  of  the  family.  Remember  that, 
and  cease  before  your  time  to  be  a  boy." 

"I  will,  father,"  the  boy  promised. 

"There  is  little  or  no  money,  worse  luck,"  the  man 
went  on.  "All  I  have  had  I  have  put  into  land  and 
timber,  and  the  fire  burnt  the  timber.  But  in  time 
the  land  will  make  you  rich,  though  not  yet  awhile, 
maybe.  But  till  it  does,  the  ranch  will  give  you  a 
living.  Sell  nothing  now — not  an  acre.  Promise  me, 
boy!" 

"I  promise,  father,"  the  boy  replied. 

"A  promise  to  a  dying  father  is  an  oath,"  the  man 
went  on.  "But  no  Mackay  of  our  Mackays  ever 
broke  his  word  passed  for  good  or  ill.  Remember 
that,  too.  I  have  made  a  will,  and  all  I  have  is  left 
to  you  as  the  eldest  son.  That  has  ever  been  our 
custom.  When  the  time  comes,  and  they  are  older, 
deal  generously  with  your  sister  and  brother.  That 
is  our  custom,  too.  Of  this  will,  the  man  Braden  is 
named  as  executor.  I  had  intended — but  it  is  too  late 
now.  He  is  a  man  of  business  and  has  the  name  of 
an  upright  man.  But  if  you  need  advice,  son,  go  to 
Judge  Riley,  drunkard  and  all  as  he  is.  But  for 
that  he  should  have  been  in  Braden's  place.  That 
is  all,  I  think.  I  feel  more  content  now."  And  he 
closed  his  eyes  with  a  sigh. 

"I  will  remember,  father,"  the  boy  said.  "But 
who  did  this?  Who  shot  you?" 

The  eyes  opened  and  searched  his  deeply  for  many 
seconds. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know?" 

"I  ought  to  know,"  the  boy  replied. 


30        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  want  to  know,"  his  father  said,  "so  that  if 
the  law  should  fail,  you  would  take  the  old  law  of 
the  old  days  into  your  young  hands.  Is  that  it,  my 
son?" 

"Yes,"  the  boy  admitted,  "that  is  it.  And  why 
for  no,  father?" 

For  a  moment  the  graying  face  of  the  dying  man 
lighted  with  a  swift  gleam  of  pride  and  satisfaction. 
Then  he  lifted  his  great  hand  feebly. 

"You  have  bred  true,  lad.  Ever  were  the  Mac- 
kays  good  haters,  bitter  of  heart  and  heavy  of  hand. 
So  I  have  been  all  my  days,  and  no  man  did  me  wrong 
that  I  did  not  repay  it.  But  listen,  son  o'  mine :  Ly- 
ing here  with  my  man's  strength  gone  from  me  and 
the  shadows  on  my  soul  I  see  more  clearly,  as  clearly 
as  old  Murdoch  McGillivray,  who  is  dead,  and  as 
you  know  had  the  gift  while  he  lived.  And  I  tell 
you  now  that  hate  and  revenge  are  the  things  worth 
least  in  life;  and,  moreover,  that  the  things  worth 
most  in  life  and  much  more  in  death,  are  love,  and 
work  well  done,  and  a  heart  clean  of  bitterness.  And 
so  I  will  tell  you  nothing  at  all." 

"Please,  father!"  the  boy  pleaded,  for  as  his 
father  had  said  he  had  bred  true. 

"No  and  no,  I  tell  you,  no!"1  Adam  Mackay 
refused.  "No  killing  will  bring  me  back.  I  will 
not  lay  a  feud  upon  you.  Blood  and  blood,  and  yet 
more  blood  I  have  seen  come  of  such  things.  I  know 
you,  Angus,  bone  o'  my  bone  and  flesh  o'  my  flesh 
as  I  know  my  own  youth,  and  of  the  knowledge  in 
that  one  thing  I  will  not  trust  you.  I  die,  and  that 
is  the  end  of  it,  for  me  and  for  all  of  me.  Your 
duty  is  to  the  living.  And  now  call  you  Jean  and  Tor- 
quil,  that  I  may  bid  them  farewell.  And  take  you 


A  DEATH  BED  31 

my  blessing  such  as  it  is ;  for  I  feel  the  darkness  clos- 
ing upon  me." 

An  hour  later  Adam  Mackay  was  dead.  And  that 
day  was  the  last  of  Angus  Mackay's  careless  boy- 
hood. 


CHAPTER  III 

ANGUS   ASSERTS    HIMSELF 

THOUGH  the  death  of  Adam  Mackay  made  a 
great  local  sensation,  its  cause  remained  unex- 
plained. Apparently  he  had  been  unarmed,  and 
so  it  seemed  plain  murder.  But  on  the  other  hand  his 
strange  silence  was  puzzling.  He  had  been  on  good 
terms  with  most  of  his  neighbors,  or  at  least  not  on 
very  bad  terms  with  anybody,  save  a  couple  of  Indians 
whom  he  had  caught  stealing  and  handled  roughly. 
But  these  Indians  had  a  perfectly  good  alibi.  There 
was  no  clew,  no  starting  point.  Nobody  knew  even 
which  way  Mackay  had  ridden  on  the  day  of  his  death. 
And  so  after  a  while  it  was  classed  with  those  mys- 
teries which  may  be  solved  by  time,  by  not  otherwise. 
Meanwhile,  young  Angus  took  up  the  burden  of  his 
responsibilities.  So  far  as  he  knew  he  had  no  near 
relatives,  and  search  of  his  father's  papers  confirmed 
this.  He  was  rather  relieved  than  othenvise.  He 
found  his  father's  will,  and  struggling  with  its  verbi- 
age, set  it  aside  to  await  the  return  of  the  executor 
Isaac  J.  Braden,  who  was  absent  on  a  business  trip. 

Braden  was  known  to  Angus  by  sight  and  by  repu- 
tation. He  lived  in  Mowbray,  the  nearest  town, 
which  was  some  sixteen  miles  from  the  ranch,  where 
he  was  the  big  frog  in  its  little  puddle.  He  had  a 
good  many  irons  in  the  fire.  He  ran  a  sort  of  private 
banking-loan-insurance  business,  dealt  in  real  estate, 
owned  an  interest  in  a  store,  dabbled  in  local  politics 
and  was  prominent  in  church  matters.  He  was  con- 

32 


ANGUS  ASSERTS  HIMSELF  33 

sidered  a  very  able  and  trustworthy  man.  But  young 
Angus,  though  he  had  very  misty  notions  of  the  func- 
tions of  an  executor,  had  a  very  clear  and  definite 
conviction  that  it  was  up  to  him  to  run  the  ranch 
and  look  after  his  sister  and  brother.  That  was  his 
personal  job.  And  so  he  took  stock  of  the  situation. 

Adam  Mackay  had  owned  in  all  a  block  of  nearly 
two  thousand  acres.  Of  this  about  three  hundred  was 
cultivated  or  in  pasture.  The  whole  block  was  good, 
very  level,  with  ample  water  for  irrigation.  On 
the  range  was  nearly  a  hundred  head  of  cattle.  There 
were  horses  in  plenty — a  couple  of  work  team,  a  team 
of  drivers,  and  each  young  Mackay  had  a  saddle 
pony.  The  buildings  were  good,  and  the  wagons, 
sleighs,  tools  and  machinery  in  excellent  condition. 
The  ranch  was  a  going  concern,  apparently  in  good 
shape.  None  the  less  it  was  a  hard  proposition  for 
a  youngster  to  handle.  It  was  like  putting  a  cabin 
boy  on  the  bridge  to  navigate  the  ship. 

Having  been  brought  up  on  a  ranch,  he  knew  quite 
well  how  most  work  should  be  done,  and  he  had 
acquired  by  absorption  rather  than  by  conscious 
thought  a  good  deal  of  theory.  But  Adam  Mackay 
had  himself  done  rather  more  than  half  the  work. 
He  had  had  but  one  steady  hired  man,  Gus  Gustaf- 
son,  a  huge  Scandinavian  who  was  a  splendid  worker 
when  told  what  to  do,  but  who  had  no  head  what- 
ever. As  Angus  could  not  do  the  work  his  father 
had  done  he  had  to  obtain  additional  help,  and  so  he 
made  a  proposition  to  Dave  Rennie. 

Rennie  was  not  much  of  a  farmer,  but  he  came  to 
the  ranch  temporarily  at  first  out  of  his  friendship 
for  Angus,  and  remained. 

On  a  certain  Saturday  afternoon  Angus  and  Dave 


34        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Rennie,  engaged  in  hanging  a  new  gate,  saw  a  two- 
seated  rig  with  three  men  approaching.  Rennie 
peered  at  them. 

"There's  Braden,"  he  said.  "I  heard  he'd  got 
back." 

"And  that's  Nick  Garland  driving,"  Angus 
observed.  "Who's  the  other  fellow?" 

"Stranger  to  me.  Garland,  huh!  I  never  had 
much  use  for  that  sport." 

Garland  was  a  young  man  whose  business,  so  far 
as  he  had  any,  was  dealing  in  cattle.  Uncharitable 
persons  said  that  he  dealt  more  poker.  He  was  a 
good-looking  chap,  after  a  fashion,  who  affected  cow- 
boy garb,  rode  a  good  horse,  was  locally  known  and 
considered  himself  a  devil  among  the  girls,  and  gen- 
erally tried  to  live  up  to  the  reputation  of  a  dead- 
game  sport. 

The  third  man,  whom  neither  Angus  nor  Dave 
recognized,  was  a  nondescript,  sandy  individual  with 
drooping  shoulders,  a  drooping  nose  above  a  droop- 
ing moustache  which  but  partially  concealed  a 
drooping  mouth.  On  the  whole,  both  Garland  and 
this  stranger  seemed  uncongenial  companions  for  Mr. 
Braden. 

That  celebrity  grunted  as  he  climbed  down.  He 
was  a  fleshy  man  of  middle  age,  clean  shaven,  care- 
fully dressed,  with  small,  somewhat  fishy  eyes.  He 
took  Angus'  brown,  hardened  paw  in  a  soft,  moist 
palm,  putting  his  left  hand  on  his  shoulder  in  a  man- 
ner which  he  intended  to  be  sympathetic  and  pro- 
tecting; but  at  which  Angus  squirmed  inwardly  and 
grew  rigid  outwardly,  for  in  common  with  normal 
boys  he  hated  the  touch  of  a  stranger. 

"And  so,"   said  Mr.   Braden  in  a  short-winded, 


ANGUS  ASSERTS  HIMSELF  35 

throaty  voice  which  held  an  occasional  curious  pant 
like  an  old-time  camp  meeting  exhorter,  "and  so 
this  is  Angus!  It  is  a  matter  of  great  regret  to  me, 
my  boy,  that  I  was  absent  at  the  time  of  your  bereave- 
ment. You  and  your  young  sister  and  your  young 
brother  have  my  heartfelt  sympathy  in  this  your  time 
of  tribulation — huh.  Your  father  was  a  very  dear 
friend  of  mine,  a  man  in  a  thousand,  one  of  nature's 
noblemen.  'We  ne'er  shall  look  upon  his  like  again,' 
as  the  poet  truly  remarks.  However,  there  is  no  use 
crying  over — that  is,  the  Lord  giveth  and  taketh  away 
— huh,  as  you  have  been  taught,  no  doubt.  As  executor 
of  your  father's  will  my  dear  boy,  I  regard  myself 
as  in  loco  parentis,  and  I  hope  you  will  regard  me  in 
that  way,  too." 

He  beamed  most  benevolently,  but  Angus  was 
unimpressed.  Mr.  Braden,  if  he  had  only  known  it, 
could  not  have  made  a  worse  start.  A  quiet  word 
of  sympathy  or  a  firm  grip  of  the  hand  without  words 
would  have  gone  far.  As  it  was,  he  quite  failed  to 
inspire  liking  or  confidence. 

They  went  to  the  house  together,  where  Mr.  Bra- 
den  said  much  the  same  thing  over  again  to  Jean, 
and  patted  her  head.  And  young  Turkey,  unwarily 
peeping  through  the  door,  was  called  in  and  addressed 
as  "my  little  man"  and  patted  also;  which  atten- 
tions he  acknowledged  with  a  fierce  scowl  and  a 
muttered  word,  which  fortunately  Mr.  Braden  did 
not  hear. 

But  these  preliminaries  over,  Mr.  Braden  got  down 
to  business  at  once.  In  a  few  brief  but  pointed  ques- 
tions he  found  out  all  there  was  to  know  about  the 
ranch  and  the  stock,  and  he  skimmed  through  such 
papers  as  Angus  produced,  with  a  practised  eye. 


36        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"H'm,  yes,  yes,"  he  said.  "Now  I  think  I  under- 
stand the  situation.  I  have  given  the  future  of  you 
young  people  the  most  careful  consideration,  because 
it  is  for  the  future  that  you  must  now  prepare.  Youth 
is  the  time  of  preparation.  It  is  the  building  time. 
As  we  sow  in  youth,  so  we  reap  in  age — huh.  Then 
let  us  ask  what  to-day  is  the  great  essential  of  suc- 
cess ?  There  is  but  one  answer — education.  And  so 
it  follows  that  you  young  people  must  receive  the 
best  education  that  your  father's  estate  can  give  you ; 
and  as  Art  is  long  and  Time  fleeting,  as  the  poet 
truly  remarks,  you  young  people  must  enter  upon  the 
path  of  learning  at  once." 

The  young  people  said  nothing.  The  flow  of  words 
bewildered  them.  Mr.  Braden  then  got  down  to  brass 
tacks : 

"I  will  make  the  necessary  arrangements  right 
away,"  he  said.  "We  will  rent  the  ranch  and  sell  off 
some  of  the  stock,  and  the  money  will  be  used  in 
sending  you  all  to  some  good  school  which  will  fit 
you  for  success  in  life." 

This  was  definite,  concrete,  different  from  gener- 
alities. Angus  stared  at  the  executor. 

"Rent  the  ranch!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  guess  not. 
I'm  going  to  run  it  myself." 

Mr.  Braden  smiled  tolerantly.  "Your  spirit  is 
very  creditable,  my  boy,  but  you  are  too  young  and 
inexperienced." 

"I'm  running  it  now,"  Angus  told  him,  "and  I'm 
going  to  keep  on.  I  won't  stand  for  having  it  rented." 

"At  your  age,  my  boy,  you  don't  know  what  is 
best  for  you.  You  must  allow  me  to  be  the  judge." 

Youth  is  hot-headed,  and  the  tongue  of  youth 
unruly. 


ANGUS  ASSERTS  HIMSELF  37 

"I  will  not  stand  for  having  the  ranch  rented," 
Angus  repeated.  "I  am  going  to  stay  here  and  work 
it,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Mr.  Braden  frowned  at  this  brusque  ultimatum. 
"I  have  already  made  arrangements  with  Mr.  Poole, 
here,  to  take  it  over." 

Angus  looked  at  the  drooping  Mr.  Poole  and 
decided  that  he  did  not  like  him. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  have  made,"  he  said  bluntly. 
"Renters  rip  the  heart  out  of  a  ranch.  They  take 
everything  from  the  land  and  put  nothing  back;  and 
when  they  have  worked  it  out  they  quit.  That's  not 
going  to  happen  here,  if  I  know  it." 

"You  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  Mr. 
Poole  observed. 

"I  think  I  know  more  about  ranching  than  you 
do,"  Angus  retorted. 

"I  was  ranching  before  you  was  born,"  Mr.  Poole 
told  him  loftily. 

"Then  why  haven't  you  got  a  ranch  of  your  own, 
instead  of  hoboing  it  around,  renting  places?"  Angus 
demanded. 

Mr.  Poole  reddened  and  scowled.  "I  had  a  blame 
sight  better  ranch  than  this,  but  I  sold  it,"  he  said. 

"By  your  looks  I  think  the  sheriff  helped  you," 
Angus  said.  "You  look  to  me  like  a  man  that  is  too 
lazy  to  turn  over  in  bed,  like  a  man  that  would  sleep 
in  winter  and  never  hear  his  stock  bawling  for  feed. 
You  will  never  have  this  ranch.  If  you  try  to  come 
on  it — " 

"Angus,"  Mr.  Braden  broke  in  with  dignified  sev- 
erity, "you  are  forgetting  yourself.  You  must  not 
talk  in  that  way  to  your  elders." 

But  by  this  time  young  Mackay's  temper,  which 


3  8        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

had  been  gradually  rising,  was  beyond  being  damped 
off  by  a  stern  voice  and  dignified  manner. 

"I  will  say  what  I  think,"  he  declared,  "to  this 
man  Poole,  or  to  you,  or  to  anybody  else,  and  I  will 
back  up  what  I  say  the  best  way  I  can.  You  come 
here  and  talk  about  renting  the  ranch  and  selling 
stock  as  if  I  had  nothing  to  say  about  it.  I  tell  you, 
now,  it  doesn't  go.  I  am  staying  here,  and  so  are 
Jean  and  Turkey.  If  you  try  to  put  us  off,  or  put 
this  Poole  or  anybody  else  on,  there  will  be  trouble 
you  can  scoop  up  in  a  bucket." 

Garland  chose  that  moment  to  laugh.  Angus 
turned  on  him  with  a  scowl.  He  was  like  a  young 
dog  cornered  by  older  ones,  nervous,  snarling,  but 
quite  ready  to  fight  for  his  bone.  He  looked  Gar- 
land in  the  eye. 

"And  that  goes  for  you  too,"  he  said.  "You 
will  buy  nothing  with  the  MK  brand  from  anybody 
but  me.  You  try  to  take  a  single  head  of  my  stock 
off  the  range,  and  you'll  do  it  in  the  smoke,  do  you 
savvy  that?" 

Garland  laughed  again,  but  there  was  a  note  of 
uneasiness  in  it,  for  next  to  the  real  "bad  man,"  cold, 
experienced  and  deadly,  comes  the  boy,  who,  bred  in 
the  traditions  of  the  old  West,  has  the  recklessness 
and  hot  passions  of  extreme  youth.  The  history  of  the 
West  teems  with  examples. 

"You're  making  a  fool  of  yourself,  kid,"  he  said. 

Here  Dave  Rennie  broke  the  silence  which  had 
enwrapped  him. 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  he  observed. 

"What  have  you  got  to  say  about  it?"  Garland 
demanded. 

"I  ain't  said  much  so  far,"  Rennie  pointed  out, 


ANGUS  ASSERTS  HIMSELF  39 

"and  I  ain't  goin'  to.  Only  this:  Don't  nobody 
overplay  his  hand  in  this  game — nobody  at  all." 

"Who  are  you?"  asked  Mr.  Braden. 

"Me  ?     Dave  Rennie.     I'm  workin'  for  the  kid." 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Braden,  "I  fail  to  see  what  inter- 
est you  have  in  the  matter,  my  friend." 

"I  get  in  this  way,"  said  Dave.  "I'm  a  friend  of 
the  kid's,  as  well  as  a  hired  man.  You  can  take  what 
you  like  out  of  that." 

Whatever  Mr.  Braden  took  out  of  it  he  did  not 
immediately  speak,  but  drummed  with  his  fingers  on 
the  table. 

"One  of  my  rules  of  life,"  he  said,  "is  to  get 
along  without  friction ;  I  trust  I  am  a  reasonable  man. 
When  I  find  that  my  views  conflict  with  those  of 
others,  I  weigh  both  carefully.  They  may  be  right 
and  I  may  be  wrong.  We  must  have  no  friction  at 
the  outset,  Angus,  and  I  think  that  you  have  mis- 
understood me.  As  you  object  to  renting  the  ranch 
I  am  going  to  give  you  an  opportunity  to  think  it 
over,  and  I  am  going  to  think  it  over  myself.  Then 
we  will  have  another  talk.  Naturally,  I  must  do  what 
is  best  for  the  estate,  but  I  wish  to  meet  your  wishes 
as  far  as  possible.  My  sole  desire  is  to  do  my  best 
for  all  of  you.  No  friction — no,  no.  We  do  not  want 
friction,  do  we,  my  boy?" 

"I  do  not  want  trouble  at  all,"  Angus  said.  "All 
I  want  is  to  run  the  ranch,  and  that  is  what  I  am 
going  to  do." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  understand,"  Mr.  Braden  returned. 
"Well,  do  so  for  the  present,  my  boy.  Then  we  will 
talk  it  over  again." 

"There  is  no  use  talking  it  over,"  Angus  main- 
tained. "I  have  made  up  my  mind." 


40        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Mr.  Braden  looked  as  though  he  desired  to  express 
his  opinion  of  this  boyish  obstinacy,  but  changing 
his  mind  he  smiled  benevolently  and  suggested  a  look 
around  the  ranch.  Angus  accompanied  him,  pointing 
out  what  was  needed  and  what  he  intended  to  do. 
The  executor  listened,  asking  an  occasional  question, 
giving  now  and  then  a  bit  of  advice.  But  when  he 
had  driven  away  Angus  was  thoughtful. 

"You  and  him  was  gettin'  to  be  some  tillikums,'* 
Rennie  observed. 

"He  seemed  all  right  while  I  was  going  around 
with  him,"  Angus  admitted.  "He  wants  to  get  that 
notion  of  renting  out  his  head,  though.  I  wonder 
how  it  would  be  on  a  show-down,  Dave?  Do  you 
suppose  he  could  rent  the  place,  no  matter  whether 
I  wanted  to  or  not,  or  was  he  only  running  a  sandy?" 

"I  dunno,"  Rennie  admitted.  "If  I  was  you  I'd 
go  and  have  a  talk  with  old  Judge  Riley,  like  your 
daddy  told  you  to  do  if  anything  come  up.  You 
may  catch  him  sober.  Not,"  he  added,  "that  the 
old  boy  ain't  pretty  wise  when  he's  drunk." 


CHAPTER  IV 

JUDGE  RILEY DRUNK  AND   SOBER 

44  JUDGE"  RILEY  had  once  been  on  the  bench, 
but  for  some  reason  had  resigned  and  gone 

J  back  to  his  profession,  hanging  out  his  shingle 
in  Mowbray.  There  was  no  doubt  of  his  natural  and 
professional  ability,  but  it  was  the  inability  to  let 
liquor  alone,  even  when  business  demanded  attention. 
Hence  he  had  little  of  the  latter. 

He  was  not  sober  when  Angus  entered  his  untidy 
little  office.  At  Angus'  entrance  he  stared  up  with 
dull  eyes  from  beneath  a  thick  thatch  of  gray  hair 
which  had  fallen  across  his  forehead  like  a  horse's 
forelock.  For  a  moment  he  had  "difficulty  in  identify- 
ing his  visitor,  but  succeeded. 

"Angus,"  he  muttered,  "sure,  yes,  Angus  Mackay. 
Sit  down,  Angus.  And  how  is  your  father?" 

"My  father  is  dead,  Judge  Riley,"  Angus  reminded 
him. 

"Dead!"  said  the  judge,  "dead!"  His  voice 
altered  at  the  repetition  of  the  word,  and  his  eyes 
lost  a  little  of  their  dullness.  "Why,  I  knew  that,1' 
he  muttered  to  himself,  "I  knew  Mackay  was  dead. 
I — I  beg  your  pardon,  Angus.  Not — not  exactly 
right  just  now.  A  little — a  little  touch  of  something. 
All  right,  presently." 

"I'll  come  in  again,"  Angus  said.  "I  wanted  to 
see  you  on  business." 

"Bus'ness?"  the  judge  queried.  "Always  'tend  to 
bus'ness.  Not  so  much  of  it  now.  State  your  bus'- 


42        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Though  he  did  not  see  much  use  in  doing  so  in 
the  judge's  condition,  Angus  told  him  what  had  hap- 
pened and  asked  what  powers  the  executor  possessed. 

"Exec'tor  governed  by  will,"  the  judge  told  him. 
"Never  give  'pinion  on  written  instrument  without 
seeing  instrument." 

"You  drew  the  will  yourself,  judge — at  least  it  has 
your  name  on  it." 

"Good  will,  then,"  said  the  judge,  "perfectly  good 
will." 

"There's  nothing  in  it  about  renting  the  place." 

"Exec'tor's  powers  broad,"  said  the  judge. 
"Gen'ral  law  of  trustees.  Governed  by  will,  though. 
Princ'ples  governing  construction  of  will — " 

But  just  then  the  judge  was  in  no  condition  to 
enunciate  them.  His  voice  trailed  off  into  a  murmur 
and  his  head  dropped. 

"I'll  come  in  again,"  said  Angus,  "and  pay  for 
your  advice.  What  do  you  charge,  judge?" 

"Charge!"  muttered  the  judge  lifting  his  head. 
"Charge,  Chester,  charge  !  On,  Stan — " 

"Your  fee,"  Angus  interrupted. 

"Oh,  fee!"  said  the  judge.  "Yes,  fee.  Very 
proper.  Fund'mental  princ'ple  of  law,  never  neglect 
fee.  Fifty  dollars!" 

"Fifty  dollars!"  Angus  gasped. 

"Merely  nom'nal  fee,"  the  judge  murmured. 
"Avoid  lit'gation,  young  man,  Void  lit'gation  !"  And 
his  head  fell  forward  and  he  slept. 

Disappointed  in  obtaining  legal  advice  from  the 
judge,  Angus  left  his  office.  He  was  determined, 
however,  to  know  where  he  stood,  and  two  days 
afterward  he  entered  the  judge's  office  again.  This 
time  the  judge  was  sober  and  busy. 


JUDGE  RILEY— DRUNK  AND  SOBER   43 

"Glad  to  see  you,  Angus,"  he  greeted  cheerfully, 
"sit  down  and  have  a  chat." 

Angus  sat  down  and,  taking  fifty  dollars  in  bills 
from  his  pocket,  handed  the  money  across  the  desk. 
The  judge  did  not  take  it.  He  frowned  at  the 
tenderer. 

"What  is  this?"  he  demanded. 

"Your  fee,"  Angus  explained. 

"For  what?" 

"For  telling  me  what  I  want  to  know." 

"Indeed!"  rasped  the  judge.  "And  how  the  devil 
do  you  know  that  I  can  or  will  tell  you  what  you  want 
to  know?  And  who  gave  you  the  authority  to  fix 
my  fee?" 

"You  fixed  it  yourself,"  Angus  reminded  him. 
"When  I  was  here  two  days  ago  you  told  me  your 
fee  for  advice  was  fifty  dollars;  and  now  I  have 
brought  the  money  for  the  advice." 

A  dull  color  rose  in  the  old  lawyer's  cheeks. 

"You  mean  I  was  too  drunk  to  give  it,"  he  said. 
"I  remember  that  you  were  here,  but  nothing  about 
fifty  dollars.  Put  it  back  in  your  pocket,  and  tell  me 
what  you  want  to  know." 

"But  I  want  to  pay  for  what  I  get." 

"Well,  you  won't,"  the  judge  snapped. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  I  regulate  my  own  charges,"  the  judge 
told  him.  "I've  enjoyed  your  father's  hospitality  and 
yours,  and  not  a  cent  would  you  Mackays  ever  accept 
for  the  time  you  lost,  or  for  the  hire  of  horses  or 
their  feed,  or  mine.  Damned  proud  Highland  Scotch, 
that  must  always  give  and  never  take!  Put  your 
money  in  your  pocket,  I  tell  you,  and  let  me  know 
what's  worrying  you." 


44        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

So,  seeing  that  he  meant  it,  Angus  put  his  money 
back  and  stated  his  case. 

"H'm,"  said  the  judge.  "So  Braden  wants  to  rent 
the  ranch,  does  he,  and  sell  some  stock.  Under  cer- 
tain circumstances  that  might  be  expedient.  An  execu- 
tor's powers  are  broad  enough,  within  certain  limits, 
which  you  probably  wouldn't  understand.  But  what 
do  you  want  to  do  yourself?  What  do  you  think  is 
the  best  thing  for  you  and  your  sister  and  brother?" 

"I  want  to  stay  on  the  ranch.  I  can  make  a  living 
there.  Jean  and  Turkey  are  going  to  school  now, 
and  it  will  be  some  years  before  they  are  through 
with  it.  Then  it  will  be  time  enough  to  think  of 
another  school." 

"How  about  yourself?"  the  judge  queried.  "You 
are  at  the  age  when  you  should  be  laying  the  founda- 
tions of  more  education  if  you  are  to  get  it  at  all." 

"I  have  thought  of  that,"  Angus  replied,  "and  I 
do  not  think  I  have  the  head  for  books,  like  Jean. 
I  might  spend  years  learning  things  that  might  be 
well  enough  to  know,  perhaps,  but  of  no  real  use  to 
make  a  living,  which  is  what  I  have  to  do.  And 
meanwhile  the  ranch  would  be  run  down  and  the 
ground  be  worked  out  and  dirty  with  weeds.  And 
then  there  is  my  promise  to  my  father.  I  am  taking 
his  place  as  well  as  I  can;  and  that  place  is  on  the 
ranch." 

"I  see,"  said  the  judge  thoughtfully.  "You  may 
be  right,  my  boy.  Many  a  good  rancher  has  been 
spoilt  to  make  a  poor  something  else.  The  profes- 
sions are  crowded  with  failures.  But  let's  go  back 
to  the  point:  Whether  Braden  has  or  has  not  the 
power  to  rent  the  ranch  and  sell  stock,  is  immaterial 
so  long  as  it  is  not  done.  I  will  see  him,  and  I  think 


JUDGE  RILEY— DRUNK  AND  SOBER   45 

I  can  explain  the  situation  to  him  perhaps  more  clearly 
than  you  can.  How  old  are  you?" 

"Eighteen,"  Angus  replied.    "I  wish  I  was  older." 

The  judge  looked  at  him  and  sighed.  "Believe 
this,"  he  said;  "that  when  you  are  older — much  older 
— you  will  wish  much  more  and  just  as  vainly  to  be 
eighteen.  It's  three  years  before  you  come  of  age. 
Even  then — "  He  broke  off  and  for  a  moment  was 
silent.  "Angus,  you  are  a  close-mouthed  boy.  If 
in  the  future  you  have  any  trouble  with  Braden,  or  if 
he  or  anybody  else  makes  you  any  proposition  involv- 
ing the  ranch,  will  you  come  to  me  with  it?" 

"I'll  be  very  glad  to,"  Angus  told  him  gratefully. 

"All  right.  And,  Angus,  I'm  going  to  give  you 
a  word  of  advice,  which  may  sound  strange  from  me. 
Never  drink.  Never  start.  Not  only  not  now,  but 
five  years  hence,  nor  ten,  nor  thirty,  nor  forty." 

"I  don't  intend  to,"  Angus  said  in  surprise.  "I 
don't  think  I'd  ever  drink  much.  There  isn't  any- 
thing in  it,  it  seems  to  me." 

"You're  wrong,"  the  judge  told  him  gravely.  "You 
know  nothing  about  it.  In  youth  there  is  pleasure  in 
it,  and  good  fellowship  that  warms  the  heart,  and 
bright  eyes  and  soft  lips — which  you  know  nothing 
about  yet — and  dreams  of  ambition  and  temporary 
equality  with  the  gods;  and  later  in  life  there  are  the 
faces  and  voices  of  old  friends,  of  men  and  women 
dead  before  their  time,  and  the  golden  past  and 
golden  youth  leaps  and  lives  again,  and  the  present 
is  forgotten.  And  at  last —  Do  you  know  what 
there  is  at  last,  Angus?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  boy  with  equal  gravity.  "What 
is  there?" 

"Damnation !"  the  judge  replied  slowly.   "Damna- 


46        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

tion,  deep  and  living.  The  damnation  of  those  who 
knowing  the  better  have  chosen  the  worse ;  who  living 
the  worse  can  yet  see  the  better  and  the  great  gulf 
fixed  between.  The  hell  of  the  hereafter — phuttl" 
And  the  judge  snapped  his  fingers. 

The  boy  stared  at  him  wonderingly.  The  judge 
interpreted  his  thought. 

"The  gulf  is  fixed,  because  the  will,  which  is  the 
only  thing  that  can  bridge  it,  is  the  first  thing  to  be 
destroyed.  Where  there  is  no  will  to  fight  there  is 
no  fight.  And  you  think,  too,  that  this  advice  comes 
strangely  from  me.  But  who  can  speak  with  greater 
authority — I,  or  the  man  who  never  took  a  drink  in 
his  life?' 

"You,  of  course,"  Angus  admitted. 

"Yes,  I,"  said  the  judge.  "And  I  tell  you  who 
are  on  the  threshold  of  manhood  to  let  liquor  alone ; 
not  because  there  is  nothing  in  it,  as  you  say  in  your 
ignorance,  but  because  there  are  most  things — or  the 
semblance  of  most  things — in  it  that  the  heart  of 
man  desires.  Remember  not  to  prove  these  things. 
That's  all  I  have  to  say  on  the  subject.  And  now 
clear  out,  for  I  am  busy." 

But  when  Angus  had  gone  the  judge  did  not  appear 
to  be  very  busy.  He  filled  a  disreputable  old  pipe  with 
a  somewhat  shaky  hand,  and  lighting  it  passed  into  a 
period  of  reflection.  At  the  end  of  it  he  put  on  his 
hat  and  proceeded  up  the  street  to  Mr.  Braden's 
office. 

Mr.  Braden,  spick  and  span  and  freshly  shaven, 
enjoying  a  very  good  cigar,  looked  with  surprise  and 
some  distaste  at  the  rumpled,  unpressed  clothes, 
unshaven  cheeks  and  untidy  hair  of  the  old  lawyer. 
He  had  little  or  no  use  for  him. 


JUDGE  RILEY— DRUNK  AND  SOBER    47 

"And  what  is  it  this  morning,  judge?"  he  asked. 

"Mackay  estate,"  said  the  judge. 

Mr.  Braden's  eyes  closed  a  little. 

"Yes,  I  know  you  drew  Mackay's  will,"  he  ad- 
mitted, "but  Crosby  and  Parks  do  all  my  business, 
and  of  course — " 

"Wrong  foot,"  said  the  judge,  "I'm  not  asking  for 
any  of  your  business,  Braden.  Angus  Mackay  tells 
me  you  were  speaking  of  renting  the  ranch,  and  he 
wanted  to  know  if  you  had  the  power  to  do  it." 

"Of  course  I  have,"  Mr.  Braden  asserted.  "The 
boy—" 

"I  told  him,"  the  judge  went  on,  "that  whether  you 
had  the  power  or  not,  it  was  most  unlikely  that  you 
would  exercise  it." 

"What  do  you  know  about  it?"  Mr.  Braden 
demanded  brusquely. 

"Not  a  great  deal  just  yet;  but  enough  to  tell  him 
that." 

"Well,  that  may  be  your  personal  opinion.  I 
haven't  made  up  my  mind  yet.  But  if  I  consider 
it  in  the  interests  of  the  estate  to  rent  the  ranch  to 
a  competent  man  I  shall  most  certainly  do  so." 

"Poole  a  competent  man?"  the  judge  queried. 

"I  believe  so.     What  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"Not  a  great  deal — yet,"  the  judge  returned  again. 
"What  makes  you  think  it  would  be  best  to  rent 
the  place — to  a  competent  man?" 

"Under  the  circumstances  I  should  think  it  would 
be  obvious." 

"If  it  is  obvious  why  isn't  your  mind  made  up?" 

"Look  here,"  Mr.  Braden  snapped,  "you  aren't 
cross-examining  me,  Riley!" 

The  judge  smiled  blandly,  but  somehow  the  smile 


43        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

reminded  Mr.  Braden  of  the  engaging  facial  expres- 
sion of  a  scarred  old  Airedale. 

"Perhaps  you'll  explain  the  obvious,  Braden." 

"I  don't  know  why  I  should  explain  anything  to 
you.  I  don't  recognize  your  right  to  ask  me  any 
questions  whatever." 

"Pshaw !"  said  the  judge.  "Think  a  little,  Braden." 

Whatever  Mr.  Braden  thought  he  saw  fit  to  adopt 
a  different  tone. 

"Just  look  at  the  situation  from  my  standpoint," 
he  said.  "By  their  father's  untimely  death  these  chil- 
dren are  thrown  on  the  world  with  no  ready  money 
whatever.  Their  only  source  of  income  is  the  ranch, 
which  they  are  too  young  and  inexperienced  to  make 
pay.  The  only  sensible  thing  to  do  is  to  put  it  into 
the  hands  of  some  competent  man,  so  that  it  will 
yield  a  steady  income.  Isn't  that  common  sense?" 

"As  you  state  it — yes,"  the  judge  admitted. 

"Ha,  of  course  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Braden  triumph- 
antly. "Then  as  to  the  children  themselves,  I  feel 
my  responsibility.  They  must  not  be  allowed  to  grow 
up  wild  like — er — cayuses,  as  it  were.  They  must 
have  an  education  to  fit  them  for  the  Battle  of  Life, 
and  as  you  know  they  can't  get  that  at  a  country 
school.  The  rental  of  the  ranch,  plus  the  proceeds 
of  a  sale  of  some  of  the  stock  could  not  be  better 
employed  than  in  sending  them  to  some  first-class 
institution.  In  these  days  education  is  the  right  of 
every  child.  It  is  the  key  to  Success,  which,  when 
Opportunity  knocks  at  the  door — What  the  devil  are 
you  grinning  at?" 

"Go  on." 

"Well,  that's  all  I  was  going  to  say,"  said  Mr. 
Braden  whose  wings  of  fancy  had  suddenly  dragged 


JUDGE  RILEY— DRUNK  AND  SOBER    49 

before  the  old  lawyer's  cynical  smile.  "Rent  the 
place;  get  money;  apply  the  money  to  educate  the 
children.  That's  it  in  a  nutshell.  Any  court  would 
approve  such  action  of  an  executor." 

"Possibly — on  an  ex  parte  application.  But  mean- 
time who  pays  the  mortgage?" 

"Mortgage?"  said  Mr.  Braden. 

"The  mortgage  Adam  Mackay  made  to  you  on 
the  ranch  to  obtain  money  to  enable  him  to  buy  timber 
limits  which  were  subsequently  fire-swept.  That's  sub- 
sisting, isn't  it?" 

"Certainly  it  is."  There  was  a  shade  of  defiance  in 
Mr.  Braden's  tone.  "I  hope  I  am  not  a  harsh  cred- 
itor. The  interest  might  run  along  and  all  the  rental 
go  toward  educating  the  children." 

"Very  creditable  to  your  heart,"  said  the  judge. 
"But  practically  the  result  would  be  that  the  interest 
would  accumulate  and  compound,  and  that  when  these 
young  people  had  received  the  education  which  is 
the  key  to  Success  the  property  would  be  saddled  with 
a  very  heavy  encumbrance,  more,  in  fact,  than  they 
might  care  to  assume." 

"Well,"  snapped  Mr.  Braden,  "what  would  you 
have  me  do?  Insist  on  my  interest  and  rob  these 
poor  children  of  their  chance  of  life?" 

"Very  hard  situation,  isn't  it?"  said  the  judge 
blandly.  "It  is  just  as  well  to  look  it  in  the  face, 
though.  If,  some  years  hence,  the  children  couldn't 
pay  off  these  mortgage  arrears  the  property  would 
have  to  be  sold.  In  fact  you  might  be  forced  to 
buy  it  in  to  protect  yourself." 

"Do  you  suggest — " 

"I  don't  suggest  anything.  Let  us  look  at  another 
angle  of  it.  Suppose  the  place  is  rented  and  a  crop 


50        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

or  two  fails  and  the  lessee  proves  incompetent.  Then 
the  time  comes  when,  to  educate  the  children,  the 
property,  or  some  of  it,  must  be  sold.  Again  you 
might  be  forced  to  buy  it  in  to  protect  yourself." 

"I  don't  want  the  ranch,"  Mr.  Braden  said. 

"No,  of  course  not.  But  that  is  the  situation. 
Now  young  Angus  is  a  well-grown  boy.  I  think  he 
can  run  the  ranch  fairly  well.  The  other  children 
are  going  to  a  school  which  is  good  enough  for  their 
present  needs.  Angus  feels  very  strongly  about  the 
matter.  In  fact  I  think  he  would  ask  me  to  oppose 
any  endeavor  to  rent  the  place." 

"Are  you  threatening  me  with  a  lawsuit?" 

"Not  at  all.  There  can  be  no  action  unless  there 
are  grounds  for  one,  and  of  course  a  wise  trustee 
walks  very  carefully.  That's  all  I  have  to  say.  Good 
morning,  Braden." 

Mr.  Braden  from  his  window  looked  after  the 
bulky,  square-set  figure  of  the  old  lawyer  as  he  made 
his  way  down  the  street. 

"You  will,  will  you,  you  old  bum!"  he  muttered. 
Then  his  gaze  shifted  to  a  large  map  of  the  district 
which  hung  on  the  wall.  For  some  minutes  he  con- 
templated it,  and  then  his  pudgy  finger  tapped  the 
exact  spot  which  represented  the  Mackay  ranch.  Then 
half  aloud  he  uttered  an  eternal  truth.  "There's 
sev'ral  ways,"  said  Mr.  Braden,  "of  skinning  a  cat." 


CHAPTER  V. 

ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR 

THE  judge  merely  told  Angus  that  if  he  could 
work  the  ranch  properly  it  would  not  be  rented; 
and  thus  encouraged  he  buckled  into  the  work. 
The  responsibility  thrust  on  him  changed  his  outlook 
even  more  than  he  himself  realized. 

Jean  felt  her  responsibilities  as  much  as  he.  She 
was  fond  of  books,  but  she  grudged  the  time  spent 
at  school,  and  from  before  daylight  till  long  after 
dark  she  was  as  busy  as  a  young  hen  with  a  brood  of 
chicks.  The  boys  helped  her  with  the  hard  tasks, 
and  on  the  whole  she  got  along  very  well. 

But  though  Angus  and  Jean  felt  their  responsibil- 
ities and  endeavored  to  live  up  to  them,  young  Turkey 
did  not.  He  was  a  curious  combination,  with  as 
many  moods  and  shifts  as  an  April  day.  By  turns  he 
was  headstrong  and  impulsive,  and  then  coldly  calcu- 
lating. If  he  felt  like  it,  he  would  be  industrious;  but 
if  not,  he  would  be  deliberately  and  provokingly  idle. 
In  the  days  of  Adam  Mackay  these  qualities  had  been 
not  so  apparent;  but  with  the  passing  of  his  father 
he  recognized  no  authority  and  he  resented  bitterly 
the  least  suggestion  of  control. 

He  would  soon  have  gotten  completely  out  of  hand 
had  Angus  permitted  it.  Matters  came  to  a  show- 
down one  morning  when*-  Turkey,  snug  between  his 
blankets,  delivered  a  flat  ultimatum  to  his  brother's 
command  that  he  get  up  and  help  pick  potatoes. 

"You  go  plum  !"  said  Turkey.  "Saturday's  a  holi- 
day, and  I'm  goin'  fishin'.  Pick  spuds  yourself!" 

51 


52        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

The  next  moment  he  was  yanked  out  of  his  nest 
by  the  ankle  and,  fighting  like  a  young  wildcat,  was 
thrown  on  the  floor. 

"Will  you  pick  those  spuds?"  Angus  demanded. 

"No!"  Turkey  shouted,  and  Angus  whirled  him 
over  on  his  face  and  reaching  out  acquired  a  leather 
slipper. 

"Get  this  straight,"  he  said.  "You'll  pick  spuds, 
or  I'll  lick  you  till  you  do." 

"You  lick  me,  and  I'll  kill  you,"  roared  Turkey,  em- 
phazing  the  threat  with  language  gleaned  from  cer- 
tain teamsters  of  his  acquaintance,  but  which  was  cut 
short  by  the  slipper. 

"Will  you  come  to  work  now?"  Angus  asked  after 
a  heated  interval. 

"No !"  yelled  Turkey,  sobbing  more  with  rage 
than  with  pain,  "no,  I  won't,  you  big — " 

But  again  the  slipper  cut  him  short,  and  this  time 
his  brother  put  his  full  strength  into  it.  Finally, 
Turkey  recognized  the  old-time  doctrine  of  force, 
and  gave  up.  That  day  he  picked  potatoes  with  fair 
diligence,  and  though  he  would  not  speak  to  Angus 
for  a  week,  he  did  as  he  was  told. 

And  so  that  Fall  the  young  Mackays  were  very 
busy,  and  the  threshing  was  done,  and  the  roots  dug 
and  got  in,  and  some  fall  plowing,  before  the  frosts 
hardened  the  earth  and  the  snow  came  to  overlie  it. 

With  winter  the  work  of  the  ranch  lightened — 
or  at  least  its  hours  shortened.  But  still  there  was 
plenty  to  do. 

But  there  were  the  long  evenings,  when  all  the 
work  was  done,  and  supper  over  and  the  lamps  lit, 
and  they  sat  by  the  big,  airtight  heater,  and  Angus 
at  least  enjoyed  the  warmth  the  more  because,  well- 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  53 

fed  and  comfortable  himself,  he  knew  that  every  head 
of  his  stock  was  also  full-bellied  and  contented  in  pen 
and  stable  and  stall  and  shed,  and  the  wind  might 
blow  and  the  snow  drift  and  not  matter  at  all. 

A  year  passed  uneventfully.  The  ranch  paid  its 
way,  though  Angus  could  not  meet  the  mortgage 
interest.  In  that  year  Angus  had  grown  physically. 
Adam  Mackay  had  been  a  strong  man,  and  his  son 
was  beginning  to  show  his  breed,  and  the  results  of 
the  good  plain  food  and  open  air  and  hard  exercise 
which  had  been  his  all  his  life. 

He  was  yet  lanky  and  apparently  awkward,  being 
big  of  bone,  but  long  ropes  of  muscle  were  beginning 
to  come  on  his  arms  and  thighs,  and  bands  and 
plasters  of  it  lay  on  his  shoulders  and  along  his  back 
and  armored  ribs.  He  took  pride  in  the 
strength  that  was  coming  upon  him,  rejoicing  in  his 
ability  to  shoulder  a  sack  of  grain  without  effort,  to 
lift  and  set  around  the  end  of  a  wagon,  to  handle  the 
big  breaking  plow  at  the  end  of  a  furrow,  and  he  was 
forever  trying  new  things  which  called  for  strength 
and  activity.  At  nineteen  he  could,  though  he  did 
not  know  it,  have  taken  the  measure  of  any  ordinary 
man.  And  about  this  time  an  incident  occurred 
which  nearly  turned  out  disastrously. 

Angus  had  delivered  a  load  of  potatoes  at  a  hotel 
much  frequented  by  lumberjacks,  and,  seeking  its 
proprietor,  he  entered  the  bar.  A  logging  camp 
had  broken  up,  and  its  members,  paid  off,  were  cele- 
brating in  the  good  old  way.  As  Angus  approached 
the  bar  he  passed  between  two  young  men.  These, 
with  one  telepathic  glance,  suddenly  administered  to 
the  unsuspecting  youth  the  rite  known  as  the  "Dutch 
flip."  Although  the  humor  of  the  "flip"  is  usually 


54        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

more  apparent  to  perpetrators  and  onlookers  than  to 
the  victim,  Angus  merely  grinned  as  he  found  him- 
self on  his  feet  again,  and  all  would  have  been  well 
if,  in  his  involuntary  parabola,  his  feet  aforesaid  had 
not  brushed  a  huge  tie-maker.  This  tie-maker  was  a 
Swede,  "bad,"  with  a  reputation  as  a  fighter  and  the 
genial  disposition  of  a  bear  infested  with  porcupine 
quills.  Also  he  was  partly  drunk.  In  this  condi- 
tion he  chose  to  regard  the  involuntary  contact  of 
Angus'  heels  as  a  personal  affront.  With  a  ripping 
blasphemy  he  slapped  the  boy  in  the  face,  and  as 
instantly  as  a  reflex  action  Angus  lashed  back  with  a 
blow  clean  and  swift  as  the  kick  of  a  colt,  and  nearly 
as  powerful. 

The  logger  recovered  from  his  surprise,  and  with 
a  roar  sprang  and  caught  him.  Strong  for  a  boy, 
Angus  was  as  yet  no  match  for  such  an  adversary. 
The  weight  of  the  man,  apart  from  fighting  experi- 
ence, made  the  issue  undoubted.  But  suddenly  the 
Swede  was  twisted,  wrenched  loose,  and  sent  stag- 
gering ten  feet.  Straight  down  the  length  of  the  room 
the  big  tie-maker  shot,  landing  with  a  terrific  crash, 
and  lay  groaning. 

"Let  the  kid  alone !"  a  deep  voice  commanded. 

Angus'  rescuer  was  Gavin  French,  the  eldest  of 
the  brothers.  The  largest  of  a  family  of  big  men, 
Gavin  stood  three  inches  over  six  feet  in  his  stock- 
ings, and  tapered  from  shoulders  to  heels.  He  was 
long  of  limb,  long  of  sinew,  and  so  beautifully  built 
that  at  first  sight  his  real  bulk  and  weight  were  not 
apparent.  His  hair,  reddish  gold,  was  so  wavy  that 
it  almost  curled,  his  eye  a  clear  blue,  but  as  hard  as 
newly-cut  ice.  He  nodded  to  Angus. 

"All  right,  Mackay;  I  won't  let  him  hurt  you." 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  55 

Gavin  French  surveyed  his  handiwork  with  cold 
satisfaction. 

"Give  the  boys  a  drink,"  he  said.  And  when  the 
drink  had  been  disposed  of  he  walked  out  without 
a  second  glance  at  his  late  adversary  who  was  sitting 
up.  Angus  followed  him. 

"Thanks  for  handling  him,"  he  said.  "He  was 
too  strong  for  me." 

The  cold  blue  eyes  rested  on  him  appraisingly. 

"You'll  be  all  right  when  you're  older.  Better 
keep  out  of  trouble  till  then." 

"He  struck  me,"  Angus  said,  "and  no  man  will 
ever  do  that  without  getting  back  the  best  I  have, 
no  matter  how  big  he  is.  That  was  my  father's  way." 

Gavin  French  made  no  reply.  He  nodded,  and 
turning  abruptly  left  Angus  alone. 

This  episode,  trivial  in  itself,  gave  Angus  food 
for  thought.  For  long  months  the  sight  of  the  big 
Swede  hurtling  through  the  air  was  before  his  eyes, 
and  he  admired  and  envied  the  mighty  strength  of 
Gavin  French.  By  contrast  his  own  seemed  puny, 
insignificant.  He  set  himself  deliberately  to  increase  it. 

The  second  fall  after  Adam  Mackay's  death  the 
school  which  Jean  and  Turkey  attended  had  a  new 
teacher.  Jean  fell  in  love  with  her  from  the  start, 
and  even  Turkey,  who  had  regarded  teachers  as  his 
natural  enemies,  was  inclined  to  make  an  exception. 
Jean  brought  this  paragon  to  the  ranch  over  Sunday. 
Alice  Page  was  a  clear-eyed  young  woman  of  twenty- 
four,  brown  of  hair  and  eye  as  Jean  herself,  full  of 
quiet  fun,  but  with  a  dignity  which  forbade  familiar- 
ity. She  was  the  first  person  who  had  ever  given 
Angus  a  handle  to  his  name.  This  was  at  dinner, 
and  Turkey  yelped  joyously: 


5 6        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Ah,  there,  'Mister'  Mackay!"  he  cried.  "A  little 
more  meat,  'Mister'  Mackay,  and  a  dose  of  spuds 
and  gravy,  'Mister'  Mackay.  I  see  you  missed  some 
of  the  feathers  by  your  left  ear  when  you  was  shavin', 
'Mister'  Mackay!" 

Having  just  begun  the  use  of  the  razor,  Angus  red- 
dened to  the  ear  aforesaid.  Like  most  taciturn, 
reserved  people  he  was  keenly  sensitive  to  ridicule. 

"  'Meester'  Mackay !  Haw-haw  !"  rumbled  big  Gus 
through  a  mouthful  of  food.  "He's  shave  hees  vis- 
kers  !  Das  ban  purty  good  von.  Ho-ho  !" 

Dave  Rennie  grinned.  Angus'  black  brows  drew 
down,  but  just  then  he  choked  on  a  crumb  of  bread 
which  went  the  wrong  way. 

"Pat  'Mister'  Mackay  on  the  back!"  shrieked  Tur- 
key. 

"I'll  pat  you,  young  fellow!"  Angus  wheezed. 

But  Alice  Page  saw  how  the  land  lay;  saw  also 
that  the  black-browed,  awkward  boy  was  in  danger 
of  losing  his  temper. 

"Shall  I  call  you  'Angus'?"  she  asked,  and  there 
was  something  in  her  tone  and  friendly  smile  which 
calmed  him. 

"That  would  be  fine,"  he  said.  "And  if  you  would 
lick  Turkey  Monday  morning  it  would  be  a  great 
favor." 

A  month  afterward  Alice  Page  came  to  live  at  the 
ranch.  Her  companionship  meant  much  to  Jean.  It 
meant  more  to  Angus,  who  presently  suffered  a  sev- 
ere attack  of  calf-love. 

Being  in  love,  Angus  began  to  suffer  the  pangs  of 
jealousy,  for  there  were  others  who  found  Alice 
Page  attractive.  Chief  among  these  was  Nick  Gar- 
land, the  young  man  who  had  accompanied  Mr. 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  57 

Braden  on  his  first  visit  to  the  ranch.  His  visits 
became  frequent,  and  he  made  himself  very  much  at 
home  at  the  ranch,  treating  Angus  with  a  careless 
superiority  and  seniority  which  the  latter  found 
intensely  irritating. 

Now  Garland,  who  esteemed  himself  a  devil  of  a 
fellow,  was  merely  attempting  a  flirtation  with  the 
pretty  school  teacher.  He  could  not  but  notice 
Angus'  attitude  toward  himself,  and  in  a  flash  of  per- 
ception divined  the  cause.  He  found  it  humorous, 
as  no  doubt  it  was.  He  did  not  like  Angus,  which 
made  it  the  more  amusing.  He  intended  to  tell  Alice 
Page  the  joke,  but  in  the  meantime  kept  it  to  himself. 

He  rode  up  one  moonlight  night  while  Angus  was 
in  the  stable  dressing  by  the  light  of  a  lantern  the  leg 
of  a  horse  which  had  calked  himself,  put  his  mare  in 
a  stall  and  forked  down  hay  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Angus,  after  a  short  greeting,  maintained  silence. 
Then  picking  up  his  lantern,  he  left  the  stable.  Gar- 
land thought  his  chance  had  come. 

"They  tell  me  you're  going  to  school  this  winter," 
he  observed. 

"No,"  Angus  replied. 

''Mighty  pretty  teacher,"  Garland  insinuated.  "If 
I  had  the  chance,  I'd  sure  go.  I  think  I  could  learn 
a  lot  from  her." 

"There  would  be  lots  of  room,"  Angus  retorted. 

"What!"  Garland  demanded,  stopping  short. 

"Ay,"  Angus  said  grimly,  setting  his  lantern  on 
the  ground  and  facing  him.  "You  might  learn  to 
mind  your  own  business." 

Garland  peered  at  him  in  the  moonlight. 

"I'm  not  used  to  talk  like  that,  young  fellow." 

"You  need  not  take  it  unless  you  like,"  Angus  said. 


58        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Garland  laughed  contemptuously.  "Sore,  are  you? 
This  is  the  funniest  thing  I  ever  came  across.  I'm 
on  to  you,  kid.  It's  too  good  to  keep.  I'll  have  to 
tell  her." 

Angus  scowled  at  him  in  silence  for  a  moment. 
Then,  deliberately,  bitterly,  he  gave  him  what  is 
usually  regarded  as  a  perfectly  good  casus  belli. 

Garland  began  to  realize  that  he  had  made  a 
mistake.  He  had  anticipated  fun,  but  found  this  seri- 
ous. If  he  thrashed  Angus  he  could  not  very  well 
continue  to  call  at  the  ranch.  Also,  looking  at  the 
tall,  raw-boned  youth  confronting  him,  he  had  an. 
uneasy  feeling  that  he  might  have  his  hands  full  if 
he  tried.  He  had  not  realized  till  then  how  much  the 
boy  had  grown.  At  bottom  Garland  was  slightly) 
deficient  in  sand.  And  so  he  tried  to  avert  the  break 
he  had  brought  about. 

"That's  no  way  to  talk,"  he  said.  "You'll  have 
to  learn  to  take  a  joke,  some  day." 

"Maybe,"  Angus  retorted.  "But  I  will  never  learn 
to  take  what  you  are  taking." 

Garland  flushed  angrily.  The  element  of  truth  in 
the  words  stung. 

"I'd  look  well,  beating  up  a  boy,"  he  said  loftily. 
"I'm  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you.  When  you're 
older  maybe  you'll  have  more  sense." 

He  left  Angus,  and  marched  away  to  the  house. 
Angus  looked  after  him  till  the  door  closed,  and  then 
struck  straight  away  across  the  bare  fields  for  the 
timber. 

These  night  rambles  by  moonlight  were  a  habit 
which  fitted  well  with  his  nature.  He  was  taciturn, 
reserved,  with  an  infinite  capacity,  developed  by  cir- 
cumstance for  solitude.  But  that  night,  as  he  cov- 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  59 

ered  mile  after  mile  with  a  swift,  springy  stride,  his 
mood  was  as  sinister  as  the  black  shadows  the  great 
firs  threw  across  his  path.  His  naturally  hard,  bitter 
temper,  usually  controlled,  was  in  the  ascendant.  His 
long  dislike  of  Garland  had  come  to  a  head.  And 
yet  there  was  Garland  seated  in  his  house  with  Alice 
Page,  while  he  was  forced  to  walk  in  the  night.  It 
amounted  to  that  in  his  estimation. 

At  last  he  turned  back,  in  no  better  temper.  It 
was  late,  and  he  was  sure  that  Garland  had  gone. 
But  as  he  came  to  the  road  leading  to  the  house  he 
saw  figures  black  in  the  moonlight  approaching.  Just 
then  he  was  in  no  mood  to  meet  any  one.  An  irriga- 
tion ditch  bordered  by  willows  paralleled  the  road. 
He  jumped  the  ditch  and,  concealed  by  the  wil- 
lows, waited  till  whoever  it  was  should  go  by. 

It  was  Alice  Page,  and  Garland,  leading  his  horse. 
Opposite  him  they  halted.  Snatches  of  conversation 
blurred  by  the  gurgle  of  running  water  came  to  his 
ears.  Garland  moved  closer  to  her.  Suddenly  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms.  She  strained  back,  pushing 
him  away,  but  he  kissed  her,  and  at  that  moment 
Angus  leaped  the  ditch,  landing  beside  them.  The 
suddenness  of  his  appearance  startled  them.  The 
horse  snorted  and  pulled  back.  Garland  released 
Alice  with  an  oath  and  turned  to  face  the  intruder. 

"It's  you,  is  it?"  he  said  angrily. 

"You  had  better  get  out  of  here,"  Angus  told  him, 
"and  be  quick  about  it." 

But  Garland,  being  angry,  forgot  his  prudence. 
He  was  not  going  to  be  ordered  off  by  a  boy,  espe- 
cially before  Alice  Page. 

"Be  civil,  you  young  fool!"  he  said.  "I've  taken 
enough  from  you  to-night." 


6o       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Will  you  get  on  your  horse  and  pull  out?"  Angus 
demanded  between  his  teeth. 

"When  I  get  good  and  ready,  and  not  before," 
Garland  replied. 

Without  another  word  Angus  went  for  him.  Gar- 
land was  older,  heavier  and  presumably  stronger,  and 
furious  as  Angus  was  he  felt  that  probably  he  was  in 
for  a  licking.  But  he  went  in  hard,  like  a  forlorn 
hope,  and  like  a  forlorn  hope  he  intended  to  do  as 
much  damage  as  he  could. 

Garland  tried  to  fend  him  off  with  a  push,  and 
failing,  hit.  But  his  blow  glanced  from  Angus'  head 
and  the  latter  slashed  up  under  the  ribs  with  a  vicious 
right  hand,  and  was  amazed  at  the  depth  his  fist 
sank  in  the  body  and  the  rasping  gasp  it  brought 
forth.  Angus'  knowledge  of  offensive  and  defensive 
was  not  great.  But  at  school  he  had  engaged  in  vari- 
ous rough-and-tumble  affairs  and  one  winter  a  lithe 
young  fellow  hired  by  the  elder  Mackay  had  shown 
him  how  to  hold  his  hands.  But  these  things  were 
quite  forgotten  for  the  moment.  Like  his  claymore- 
wielding  ancestors,  his  one  idea  was  to  get  to  close 
quarters  and  settle  the  matters  there.  He  caught 
Garland  around  the  middle  and  was  gripped  in  return. 

For  a  moment  he  thought  Garland  was  not  trying, 
was  not  doing  his  best;  and  then,  suddenly  and  joy- 
fully, he  realized  that  he  was  doing  it,  and  that  it  was 
not  good  enough.  He  was  stronger  than  Garland. 
He  had  the  back,  and  the  legs,  and  the  arms  and 
the  lungs  of  him,  man  though  he  was.  With  the 
knowledge  he  snarled  like  a  young  wolf,  and  sud- 
denly strength  swelled  in  him  like  the  bore  of  a  tide. 
He  ran  Garland  back  half  a  dozen  paces,  and 
wrenched  and  twisted  him.  Getting  his  right  hand 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  61 

free  he  smashed  him  again  under  the  ribs,  and  as 
Garland,  gasping,  clinched,  he  locked  his  long  arms 
around  him,  and  with  his  shoulder  against  the  stom- 
ach, his  legs  propped  and  braced,  and  every  muscle 
from  jaw  to  heel  tautening,  he  squeezed  him  like  a 
young  python. 

Garland  tried  to  hold  the  walls  of  his  body  against 
the  grip,  and  failed.  Angus  heard  him  pant,  and 
felt  the  tremors  of  the  man's  frame  as  the  strength 
oozed  out  of  him.  Garland's  grip  weakened  and 
loosened,  and  he  tried  for  Angus'  throat  and  failed, 
for  the  boy's  chin  was  tucked  home  on  his  breast- 
bone, and  he  beat  him  over  the  back  and  head  wildly 
with  his  fists  and  caught  at  his  arms;  and  then  his 
head  and  body  began  to  go  backward. 

Angus  heard  Alice  Page's  voice  as  from  a  great 
distance,  for  that  locked  grip  of  his  was  like  the  blind 
one  of  a  bulldog. 

"Angus !    Angus !  let  him  go  I" 

And  he  plucked  Garland  from  his  footing  easily, 
for  the  latter  was  now  little  more  than  dead  weight, 
and  threw  him  on  his  back  into  the  running  ditch. 
He  stood  above  him,  his  chest  heaving,  like  a  young 
wolf  above  his  first  kill. 

Garland  splashed  into  the  chilly  water,  and  drew 
himself  out  of  it  gasping  and  cursing  with  returning 
breath.  Angus  tapped  him  on  the  mouth  with  the  toe 
of  his  moccasin. 

"That  is  no  talk  for  a  woman  to  hear,"  he  said. 
"Get  out,  or  I'll  throw  you  back  in  the  ditch." 

Garland  got  to  his  feet  unsteadily,  and  went  to  his 
horse. 

"I'll  fix  you  for  this,"  he  said  as  he  got  into  the 
saddle. 


62        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  are  a  bluff,"  Angus  told  him,  "and  you  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do.  Get  out !" 

When  horse  and  rider  were  indistinct,  Angus 
turned  to  Alice  Page. 

"You  saw  him — kiss  me,  Angus?"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted,  "but  I  didn't  mean  to.  I  had 
words  with  him  to-night,  and  I  was  waiting  till  you 
would  go  past,  but  you  stopped  right  in  front  of  me." 

"I'm  very  glad  you  were  there.  I  don't  want  you 
to  think  I  am  the  sort  of  girl  who  is  kissed  by  moon- 
light." 

"I'd  never  think  that,"  Angus  said.  "I  think  you 
are  the  finest  girl  in  the  world." 

She  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  as  much  at  his 
tone  as  at  the  words. 

"Why,  Angus !"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  do,"  he  asseverated,  "the  very  finest!  I've 
wanted  to  tell  you  so,  but  I  hadn't  the  nerve.  I — 
I  think  an  awful  lot  of  you." 

So  there  it  was  at  last,  blurted  out  with  boyish 
clumsiness. 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Alice  Page.  "I  never — 
why,  Angus,  my  dear  boy — "  She  laughed  and 
checked  herself,  and  the  laugh  turned  into  a  little 
hysterical  sob,  and  without  any  further  warning  she 
began  to  cry. 

Utterly  dismayed  Angus  stood  helpless.  And  then, 
because  it  always  seemed  to  comfort  Jean  when  in 
trouble,  he  put  his  arm  around  her.  For  a  moment 
Alice  Page  leaned  against  him,  just  as  Jean  did,  but 
somehow  the  sensation  was  quite  different.  Very 
hesitatingly  and  awkwardly,  but  doing  it  as  well  and 
carefully  as  he  knew  how,  he  kissed  her.  Where- 
upon Alice  Page  jumped  as  if  he  had  bitten  her. 


ANGUS  IN  LOVE  AND  WAR  63 

"You,  too!"  she  cried.  "O  Angus!  Oh,  good 
heavens,  what  a  night!  Let  me  go,  Angus!" 

He  let  her  go,  feeling  all  palpitant  and  vibrant, 
for  he  had  never  kissed  any  girl,  save  Jean,  who 
naturally  did  not  count,  but  glad  that  at  any  rate 
he  had  stopped  her  crying.  And  Alice  Page,  who 
had  a  large  store  of  common  sense,  did  the  very  best 
thing  possible.  Sitting  down  on  the  bank  of  the  ditch 
she  made  him  sit  beside  her,  and  talked  to  him  so 
gently  and  frankly  that  after  a  while,  though  he  still 
considered  himself  to  be  in  love,  he  felt  resigned  to 
its  hopelessness,  and  in  fact  rather  proud  of  his  broken 
heart  and  blighted  life,  as  boys  are  apt  to  be.  Indeed, 
with  his  knowledge  that  he  had  squared  the  account 
with  Garland,  he  was  almost  happy. 


CHAPTER  VI 

GAIN  AND  LOSS 

ALICE  PAGE  was  but  an  episode  in  the  life  of 
the  Mackays,  but  her  influence  was  far-reach- 
ing, at  least  with  Angus  and  Jean.  She  stimu- 
lated in  the  former  a  taste  for  reading,  dormant  and 
unsuspected.  She  made  him  see  that  he  was  wasting 
his  evenings,  and  she  got  him  books  of  history  and 
travel  and  voyages,  with  a  sprinkling  of  the  classics 
of  English  fiction.  Angus,  who  had  been  unaware 
that  such  books  existed,  took  to  them  like  a  young 
eagle  to  the  air,  for  they  opened  the  door  to  the 
romances  of  the  world. 

Though  nobody  save  Alice  Page  suspected  it,  the 
grim-faced  boy  was  full  of  the  romance  of  youth. 
At  heart  he  was  an  adventurer,  of  the  stuff  of  which 
the  old  conquistadores  were  made. 

Jean  needed  no  encouragement  to  study.  Out- 
wardly, Angus  was  hard  and  practical.  Outwardly, 
Jean  was  thoughtful  and  at  times  dreamy.  Inwardly 
the  reverse  was  true.  Jean  was  more  practical  than 
he,  less  inclined  to  secret  dreams.  She  intended  to 
fit  herself  to  teach,  and  her  studies  were  a  means  to 
that  end.  But  most  of  Angus'  reading,  apart  from 
technical  works,  was  the  end  itself.  He  was  not  con- 
scious that  it  was  developing  him,  broadening  his  out- 
look, replacing  to  some  extent  more  intimate  contact 
with  the  outer  world  of  men  and  affairs. 

Thus  time  passed  and  another  year  slid  around. 
Alice  Page  was  gone,  teaching  in  a  girls'  residential 

64 


GAIN  AND  LOSS  65 

small  college  on  the  coast.  The  ranch  was  beginning 
to  respond  to  the  hard  work.  Stock  on  the  range 
was  increasing  in  numbers  and  value.  More  settlers 
were  coming  in,  and  land  which  had  been  a  drug  on 
the  market  was  beginning  to  find  purchasers. 

Angus  had  grown  into  a  young  man,  tall  and  lean, 
quite  unstiffened  by  his  hard  work.  Turkey  was  a 
youth,  slimmer  of  build  and  smaller  of  bone  than  his 
brother,  but  wiry  and  hard  and  catlike  in  quickness. 
Jean  had  grown  from  a  slip  of  a  girl  into  a  slender, 
brown-eyed  maid.  She  was  through  with  the  local 
school,  and  though  she  never  hinted  at  it,  Angus 
knew  quite  well  that  she  desired  to  attend  the  college 
where  Alice  Page  taught.  It  was  characteristic  of 
him  that  he  said  nothing  until  he  could  speak  def- 
initely. But  one  night  he  told  her  she  had  better 
get  ready  to  go.  Jean  was  startled. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  know  I  was  thinking  of 
that?" 

"It  didn't  need  the  second  sight  of  old  Murdoch 
McGillivray,"  her  brother  returned.  "You  had  better 
get  such  things  as  you  want." 

"But — can  you  afford  it?"  she  asked  doubtfully. 

"Yes.     You  write  to  Alice  to-night." 

So  in  the  early  fall  Jean  went  away,  and  her 
brothers  missed  her  very  much;  Turkey,  because  he 
had  now  to  mend  his  own  clothes  and  take  a  turn  at 
the  cooking,  and  Angus  because  he  had  confided  in 
her  more  than  in  anybody  else. 

When  the  fall  grew  late  and  the  snow  near,  Rennie 
rode  the  range  for  stock,  which  was  usually  split  up 
into  small  bands,  scattered  here  and  there  in  valleys 
and  pockets  along  the  base  of  the  hills.  Each  bunch 
had  its  own  territory,  from  which  it  seldom  strayed 


unless  feed  got  short.  Therefore  any  given  lot  could 
usually  be  found  by  combing  a  few  square  miles. 
Before  the  heavy  snows  these  bunches  were  rounded 
up  and  driven  to  the  ranch  to  winter  there.  But  this 
time  Rennie  could  find  no  trace  at  all  of  one  bunch. 

"It's  them  three-year-old  steers,"  he  said,  "that 
used  in  between  Cat  Creek  and  the  mountain.  They 
sure  ain't  on  the  range." 

"They  must  have  drifted  off.  Maybe  the  feed  got 
short." 

"The  feed's  good  yet — never  saw  it  better  this  time 
of  the  year." 

"Likely  they've  gone  up  one  of  the  big  draws  off 
the  pass,"  Angus  suggested. 

"Well,  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  which.  I've  rode 
every  draw  for  ten  miles  each  way,  and  durn'  if  I  can 
find  a  hoof." 

This  was  serious.  It  was  up  to  them  to  find  those 
steers  before  the  snow  came.  Angus  had  no  mind 
to  see  them  come  staggering  in  in  mid-winter,  mere 
racks  of  bones;  and  apart  from  that  he  had  counted 
on  the  proceeds  of  their  sale  to  pay  Jean's  expenses 
and  some  of  the  interest  on  Braden's  mortgage. 
Accordingly,  he  turned  himself  loose  on  the  range 
with  Dave  and  Turkey.  They  spent  the  better  part 
of  a  week  in  the  saddle  and  rode  half  a  dozen  ponies 
to  a  showdown,  but  of  the  missing  stock  they  found 
never  a  trace. 

"I'll  bet  somebody's  rustled  them,"  Turkey 
decided. 

"Bosh!"  said  Angus. 

"If  you're  such  a  darn'  wise  gazabo,  why  don't  you 
find  'em?"  Turkey  retorted.  "What  do  you  think, 
Dave?" 


GAIN  AND  LOSS  67 

"Don't  know,"  said  Rennie.  "Blamed  if  it  don't 
look  like  it." 

"Rustled — nothing!"  Angus  exclaimed  contempt- 
uously. "There  aren't  any  rustlers  here." 

"There  never  was  no  rustlers  no  place  till  folks 
began  to  miss  stock,"  Rennie  pointed  out  mildly, 

"But  who  would  rustle  them?" 

"Well,  of  course  that's  the  thing  to  find  out." 

It  was  a  puzzle.  Every  steer  wore  the  MK,  and 
mistakes  of  ownership  were  out  of  the  question.  From 
calfhood  they  had  summered  on  that  range,  coming 
in  fat  and  frisky  to  winter  by  the  generous  stacks. 
There  was  no  good  reason  why  they  should  have  left 
it.  Not  only  had  the  entire  range  been  combed  care- 
fully, but  none  of  the  other  cattle  owners  had  seen 
them. 

"If  they  been  rustled,"  Rennie  decided,  "it's  good 
bettin'  it's  Injuns.  Some  of  the  young  Siwashes  is 
plenty  cultus." 

"What  could  they  do  with  them?  They  couldn't 
range  them  with  their  own  stock." 

"No,  but  they  could  drive  them  south  if  they  was 
careful  about  it,  and  mix  'em  up  with  the  stock  of 
them  St.  Onge  Injuns,  and  nobody'd  be  apt  to  notice. 
I've  sent  word  to  a  feller  down  there  to  ride  through 
and  take  a  look." 

In  due  course  Rennie  heard  from  the  "feller."  The 
steers  were  not  on  the  St.  Onge  reserve.  Thus  Angus 
was  up  against  a  blank  wall.  Nobody  would  deal 
openly  in  stock  plainly  branded.  Garland  knew  as 
much  as  anybody  of  transactions  in  stock,  but  he  had 
heard  nothing  which  might  give  a  clew  to  the  missing 
steers. 

With  the  passage  of  time  Garland  and  Angus  were 


68        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

on  terms  again,  though  naturally  there  was  little  cor- 
diality. But  apparently  Garland  retained  no  active 
ill-feeling.  The  occurrences  of  that  night  were  known 
to  nobody  but  the  three  participants.  As  for  Garland 
himself  having  had  anything  to  do  with  the  steers,  it 
seemed  out  of  the  question.  He  had  never  been  mixed 
up  in  any  shady  transactions,  and  apart  from  that, 
handing  stolen  stock  would  be  too  risky  for  him 
There  were  only  a  few  white  men  who  were  not  above 
all  suspicion;  and  these  there  was  no  reason  at  all 
to  suspect.  But  for  that  matter  there  was  no  more 
reason  to  suspect  any  Indian.  Rennie,  however,  had 
a  species  of  logic  all  his  own. 

"No  reason  1"  he  grunted.  "Why,  you  say  your- 
self there  ain't  no  reason  to  suspect  a  white  man. 
Then  it's  got  to  be  an  Injun,  ain't  it?  Sure!  On 
gen'ral  principles  it's  a  cinch." 

But  Angus  did  not  hold  with  this  view.  Though 
he  had  no  special  affection  for  Indians — as  few  peo- 
ple who  know  them  have — in  his  opinion  they  were 
no  worse  than  other  people  in  the  matter  of  honesty. 
The  older  men  he  would  trust  with  anything.  Some 
of  them,  especially  the  chief,  a  venerable  and  foxy 
old  buck  named  Paul  Sam,  had  been  friends  of  his 
father. 

"I'll  have  a  talk  with  old  Paul  Sam  the  first  time 
I  see  him,"  he  told  Rennie.  "He's  as  straight  as 
they  make  them." 

"Well,  I  guess  he's  the  best  of  the  bunch,"  Rennie 
admitted. 

A  day  or  two  afterward  Angus  met  Paul  Sam  on 
the  range,  looking  for  ponies.  Though  the  Indian 
was  old,  he  sat  his  paint  pony  as  easily  as  a  young 
man.  In  his  youth  he  must  have  been  as  straight  and 


GAIN  AND  LOSS  69 

clean-cut  as  a  lance,  and  even  the  more  than  three 
score  and  ten  snows  which  had  silvered  his  hair  had 
bent  his  shoulders  but  little.  He  was  accompanied 
by  his  granddaughter,  Mary,  a  girl  of  Jean's  age, 
who,  being  his  last  surviving  relative,  was  as  the 
apple  of  his  eye.  He  had  sent  her  to  mission  school 
and  denied  her  nothing.  As  he  owned  many  horses 
and  a  large  band  of  cattle,  Mary  had  luxuries  un- 
known to  most  Indian  girls.  She  was  unusually  good- 
looking  and  a  good  deal  spoiled,  though  Paul  Sam, 
being  of  the  old  school,  cherished  certain  primitive 
ideas  concerning  women. 

He  listened  in  silence  to  Angus'  statement  regard- 
ing the  missing  stock,  surveying  him  with  a  shrewd 
old  eye. 

"You  think  Injun  kapswalla  them  moos-moos?"  he 
asked  with  directness. 

"I  didn't  say  anybody  stole  them.  I'm  just  trying 
to  find  out  what's  become  of  them." 

Paul  Sam  grunted.  "All  time  white  man  lose 
moos-moos,  lose  kuitan,  him  tumtum  Injun  steal  um," 
he  said.  "All  time  blame  Injun.  Plenty  cultus 
Injun;  plenty  cultus  white  man,  too." 

"That's  true,"  Angus  admitted. 

"You  nanitch  good  for  them  moos-moos?  Him  all 
got  brand?" 

"Yes." 

The  old  man  reflected.  "Spose  man  kapswalla  um 
no  sell  um  here,"  he  announced.  "Drive  um  off — 
si-a-a-ah — then  sell  um." 

This  was  precisely  Rennie's  reasoning. 

"Where?"  Angus  queried.  But  on  this  point  Paul 
Sam  had  no  theory.  Nobody  could  tell,  but  some 
day  it  might  be  cleared  up. 


70        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Well,  if  you  hear  anything  of  my  steers,  let  me 
know,"  continued  Angus. 

Paul  Sam  nodded.  "Your  father  my  tillikum,"  he 
said.  "Him  dam'  good  skookum  man.  S'pose  me 
hear,  me  tell  you." 

But  the  young  eyes  of  Mary  had  sighted  ponies 
to  the  left.  She  announced  this  to  her  grandfather  in 
soft,  clucking  gutturals. 

"Goo'-by,"  said  Paul  Sam. 

"Good-by,"  said  Angus.     "Good-by,  Mary." 

The  girl  nodded,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth  and 
a  glance  which  dwelt  for  an  instant  admiringly  on 
Angus'  long,  lean  body.  Then  she  shook  up  her  fast 
pony  and  sailed  away  through  the  timber  of  the  bench- 
land  to  round  up  the  bunch  of  half-wild  cayuses, 
while  her  grandfather  followed  at  a  pace  better  suited 
to  his  years. 

But  the  fall  went  and  the  snow  came,  and  Angus 
got  no  news.  It  was  a  heavy  loss  just  then,  which 
he  could  not  afford.  Somehow  it  must  be  made  up, 
and  the  only  way  he  saw  to  do  it  was  to  cut  cord- 
wood,  The  price  was  low  and  the  haul  was  long, 
but  it  was  a  case,  for  he  had  to  have  the  money. 

So  all  that  winter  he  and  Gus  cut  and  split,  while 
Rennie  hauled  and  Turkey  looked  after  the  house 
and  the  feeding.  And  so  all  through  the  cold  weather 
they  made  cordwood.  It  did  not  make  up  for  the  loss 
of  the  steers,  but  it  helped,  and  he  was  able  to  send 
money  to  Jean. 

The  long  winter  passed.  The  days  lengthened 
and  the  sun  mounted  higher,  so  that  it  was  warm  on 
the  south  side  of  house  and  barn  and  stack.  The 
snow  went  in  a  glorious,  booming  Chinook  wind 
that  draped  the  ranges  with  soft,  scudding  clouds, 


GAIN  AND  LOSS  71 

and  set  every  gulch  roaring  with  waters.  The  ground 
thawed,  and  earth-smells  struck  the  nostrils  again. 
Up  against  the  washed  blue  of  the  sky  flocks  of 
geese  bore  their  way  northward.  One  morning  they 
heard  the  liquid  notes  of  a  meadow-lark.  Then  came 
robins  and  bluebirds,  and  a  new  season  opened  with 
a  rush. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN 

THAT  Spring  Angus  kept  three  teams  going 
steadily  on  plows  and  disks  while  the  high  winds 
dried  the  soil  to  a  powder,  raising  dust  clouds 
that  choked  and  blinded,  so  that  they  came  in  black 
and  gritty  to  a  shower  bath  of  Angus'  invention.  He 
had  accomplished  this  by  a  primitive  water  wheel 
operated  by  the  swift  water  of  the  irrigation  ditch 
back  of  the  house.  The  water  was  always  cold,  and 
invigorated  accordingly.  But  it  was  icy  in  the  morn- 
ing. Rennie  tried  it  once  and  gave  it  up,  while  big 
Gus  scornfully  refused  to  experiment  with  a  morning 
bath. 

"It'll  brace  you  up,"  Turkey  urged. 

"Vatter  ent  brace  nobody,"  Gus  replied  with  con- 
tempt. "Dees  all-over  vash  by  mornin'  ban  no  good. 
Ay  ent  need  him.  It  ent  make  me  dirty  to  sleep." 

But  the  dust  vanished  with  the  spring  rains,  and 
the  grain  sprouted  in  the  drills.  One  day  the  fields 
lay  bare  and  bald  and  blank;  and  the  next,  as  it 
seemed,  they  were  covered  with  a  film  of  tender  green. 
Then  all  hands  began  to  clear  and  repair  the  irrigation 
ditches,  so  that  when  dry  weather  came  the  fields 
should  have  water  in  plenty. 

So  the  early  summer  came  and  with  it  Jean's  holi- 
days. Her  return,  Angus  recognized,  necessitated 
some  preparation. 

"She'll  have  a  fit  when  she  sees  the  house,"  he  told 
Turkey. 

72 


THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN  73 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?"  that  young  man 
asked. 

"She'll  find  plenty  the  matter  with  it,"  Angus  pre- 
dicted apprehensively.  "We'd  better  clean  up  a  little." 

"Well,  maybe  we  had,"  Turkey  admitted. 

They  gave  the  house  what  they  considered  a  thor- 
ough cleaning,  which  consisted  in  sweeping  where  it 
seemed  necessary,  and  removing  some  of  the  pot- 
black  from  kitchen  utensils  which  Jean  had  never  set 
down  on  the  fire.  Angus  eyed  the  rusty-red  kitchen- 
range,  which  Jean  had  kept  black  and  shining. 

"I  wonder  if  we  hadn't  better  give  that  a  touch  of 
polish,"  he  said.  "Where  is  the  polish,  anyway?" 

"Search  me,"  Turkey  replied.  "I've  never  seen 
any.  What's  the  use?  It  cooks  all  right." 

They  could  not  find  Jean's  polish,  and  experimented 
with  black  harness  dressing.  But  the  smoke  when  the 
fire  was  lit  drove  them  out  of  the  house,  and  they 
let  it  go. 

Angus  drove  into  town  to  meet  Jean  behind  a  pair 
of  slashing,  upstanding,  bright-bay  three-year-olds, 
of  which  he  was  very  proud.  Jean  had  never  seen 
them  in  harness — indeed  they  had  been  harnessed  less 
than  a  dozen  times — and  he  anticipated  her  pleasure 
in  them,  for  she  loved  horses.  He  put  up  and  fed 
the  colts  at  the  livery  stable,  had  his  dinner,  made 
some  purchases,  and  as  it  was  nearly  time  for  the 
river  steamer  on  which  Jean  would  arrive,  turned 
toward  the  stable  to  hitch  up. 

As  he  turned  a  corner  he  met  Garland,  Blake 
French,  and  several  other  young  men.  Apparently 
they  were  out  on  a  time,  for  none  of  them  were 
entirely  steady  upon  their  legs.  Blake  French,  how- 
ever, was  much  the  worst. 


74        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

In  the  years  that  had  passed  the  French  family 
had  not  changed  their  habits.  The  ranch  was  still 
a  hang-out  for  every  waster  in  the  country.  But 
the  young  men  were  away  a  great  deal  in  the  summer 
and  fall,  following  the  various  local  races.  They 
had  two  or  three  good  horses,  and  seemed  to  find  the 
sport  profitable.  Also  they  had  achieved  a  rather 
unenviable  notoriety.  They  had  all  been  mixed  up 
more  or  less  in  various  rows,  but  somehow  these  mat- 
ters had  been  hushed  up.  Nobody  desired  to  incur 
the  enmity  of  a  family  which  was  supposed  to  have 
money,  and  one  way  and  another  a  good  deal  of  influ- 
ence. 

Angus  would  have  passed,  but  Garland  stopped 
him,  asking  him  to  come  and  have  a  drink.  Angus 
refused  civilly,  and  Blake  sneered. 

"It  won't  cost  you  anything,"  he  said  thickly. 

"I  don't  drink,"  Angus  said  shortly. 

"Do  you  do  anything?"  Blake  sneered.  "Do  you 
have  any  fun  at  all?" 

"What  I  have  is  my  own  business,"  Angus 
returned,  his  temper  beginning  to  ruffle. 

Blake  French,  his  brow  lowering,  caught  him  by 
the  lapel  of  the  coat.  "Are  you  telling  me  to  mind 
my  own  business?"  he  demanded. 

"That  will  be  plenty  of  that  sort  of  thing,"  Angus 
told  him.  "Let  go,  now,  and  don't  pull  me  about." 

But  Blake,  being  surly  and  quarrelsome  even  when 
sober,  gave  the  lapel  a  savage  jerk,  and  reached  out 
with  his  other  hand.  Angus  caught  his  wrist,  and 
brought  a  stiffened  forearm  across  his  throat.  At 
the  same  moment  he  stepped  forward,  crooked  his 
right  leg  behind  Blake's  left  knee  and  threw  his  full 
weight  against  him.  Blake  went  down  hard,  but  was 


THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN  75 

up  in  an  instant  and  made  a  staggering  rush.     Angus 
dodged. 

"Take  care  of  him,  you  I"  he  said  to  Garland.  "I 
don't  want  to  hit  him." 

Blake's  friends  closed  in  on  him,  and  Angus  made 
his  escape.  He  was  glad  to  get  clear  so  easily,  for 
he  had  no  mind  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  fight  on  the  street. 
He  hooked  up  the  colts  and  drove  down  to  the  land- 
ing, hearing  as  he  did  so  the  deep  bellow  of  the 
river  steamer's  whistle.  When  he  got  the  colts  tied 
and  went  out  on  the  wharf  the  boat  had  already 
docked.  Behind  a  group  of  passengers  a  girl  was 
bending  over  a  couple  of  grips.  Her  back  was 
toward  Angus,  and  never  doubting  that  it  was  Jean, 
he  reached  down  with  one  hand  for  a  grip,  while  he 
silpped  his  other  arm  around  her  waist. 

"Hello,  old  girl !"  he  said.  But  to  his  utter  amaze- 
ment, as  she  snapped  erect  in  the  crook  of  his  arm,  it 
was  not  Jean  at  all.  This  girl  was  taller,  black  of 
hair  and  blue  of  eye.  For  a  moment  he  did  not  rec- 
ognize her,  and  then  he  knew  her  for  Kathleen 
French,  whom  he  had  not  seen  for  more  than  a  year. 
"Oh,"  he  said  blankly,  "it's  you!" 

"I  think  so,"  she  said  dryly.  "I  can  stand  with- 
out being  held,  thanks." 

Angus  dropped  his  arm  from  her  waist,  blushing. 

"I  thought  you  were  Jean.     I'm  awfully  sorry." 

Kathleen  French's  dark  blue  eyes  looked  him  up 
and  down,  and  to  his  relief  she  seemed  more  amused 
than  angry. 

"But  your  sister  wasn't  on  the  boat.  It's  nice  to 
be  welcomed  by  somebody."  She  frowned,  glancing 
down  the  wharf.  "Have  you  seen  any  of  my  brothers? 
Somebody  should  be  here  to  meet  me." 


76        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Blake  is  in  town.  I  haven't  seen  any  of  the  other 
boys." 

"Then  why  isn't  Blake  here?"  she  demanded. 

"I  don't  know,"  Angus  returned.  "It's  not  my 
fault,  is  it?" 

"No,  of  course  not.  He  was  to  be  here — or  some- 
body was — and  drive  ine  out.  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
go  somewhere  and  wait  his  pleasure.  Where  is  he, 
do  you  know?" 

"Why — "  Angus  began  doubtfully,  and  stopped. 

"Look  here,"  said  Kathleen  French,  "has  Blake 
been  drinking?" 

"I  think  he  could  drive  all  right." 

"Pig!  Brute!"  Blake's  sister  ejaculated  viciously. 
"He  couldn't  keep  sober,  even  to  meet  me.  Didn't 
think  I  mattered,  I  suppose.  I'll  show  him.  Able 
to  drive,  is  he?  Well,  he  isn't  able  to  drive  me.  I'll 
get  a  livery  rig." 

"I  will  drive  you  out." 

"That's  good  of  you.     But  it's  out  of  your  way." 

"It  will  do  the  colts  good — take  the  edge  off  them. 
But  I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  Jean.  She  was 
to  have  come  on  this  boat." 

•'     "She  must  have  missed  it.     Likely  she  will  be  on 
the  next." 

This  seemed  probable.  As  there  was  nothing  to 
be  done  about  it,  Angus  went  for  Kathleen's  trunk. 
He  wheeled  it  on  a  truck  to  the  rig,  picked  it  up  and 
deposited  it  in  the  wagon  back  of  the  seat  without 
apparent  effort.  As  the  trunk  went  up  Kathleen 
French's  eyes  widened  a  little.  He  turned  to  her. 

"The  step  is  broken  and  if  you  climb  in  the  mud 
will  get  on  your  dress,"  he  said.  "I  had  better  lift 
you  over  the  wheel,  if  you  don't  mind." 


THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN  77 

"Of  course  I  don't  mind." 

He  lifted  her  up  as  one  holds  a  child  aloft  to  see  a 
passing  parade,  until  her  feet  set  on  top  of  the  wheel. 
As  she  seated  herself  she  glanced  at  him  with  a  queer 
expression  of  puzzlement.  He  unhitched  the  colts, 
gathered  up  the  lines  and  came  up  over  the  wheel 
beside  her.  As  he  dropped  into  the  seat  the  team 
got  away  with  a  plunge  and  they  went  townward 
with  slack  tugs,  the  reins  and  Angus'  arms  pulling  the 
load. 

"They're  a  little  frisky,"  he  said.  "They'll  be  all 
right  when  they  get  out  of  town." 

"You  don't  think  I'm  afraid,  do  you?"  she  said. 

"No,  I  guess  you  are  not  nervous  of  horses." 

Angus  hoped  they  would  see  nothing  of  Blake.  But 
as  they  clattered  up  the  main  street,  the  colts  dancing 
and  fighting  the  bits  and  Angus  holding  them  with 
a  double  wrap  and  talking  to  them  steadily  to  quiet 
them,  Blake  and  his  companions  were  crossing  from 
one  side  to  the  other.  He  recognized  Angus  and  his 
sister,  and  probably  remembered  that  he  was  to  meet 
her.  With  the  memory  of  his  recent  encounter  surg- 
ing in  his  fogged  brain  he  lurched  out  into  the  road- 
way and  called  on  Angus  to  stop;  and  as  the  latter 
did  not  do  so,  he  made  an  unsteady  rush  for  the  colts' 
heads. 

Just  then  Angus  could  not  have  stopped  the  colts 
if  he  had  wished  to,  and  he  did  not  wish  it.  He 
knew  that  if  Blake  got  hold  of  them  it  meant  a  wran- 
gle on  the  street,  and  so  he  loosed  a  wrap  and  clicked 
a  sharp  command.  The  colts  went  into  their  collars 
with  a  bound. 

As  they  did  so  Kathleen  French  reached  swiftly 
across  and  plucked  the  whip  from  its  socket  on  the 


78 

dash.  Angus  had  time  for  just  one  glance.  The 
nigh  forewheel  was  just  grazing  Blake,  so  that  he 
jumped  back.  His  flushed,  scowling  face  was  up- 
turned, his  mouth  open  in  imprecation.  Then  with 
a  vicious  swish  and  crack  the  lash  of  the  blacksnake 
curled  down  over  his  head  and  shoulders,  and  he  went 
out  of  sight. 

Angus  was  too  fully  occupied  with  the  colts  to  look 
back.  They  missed  a  wagon  and  a  buggy  by  inches 
merely,  and  were  a  mile  out  of  town  before  he  was 
able  to  pull  them  down  to  an  ordinary  gait;  and  he 
was  in  no  sweet  temper  at  them,  at  Blake,  and  even  at 
Blake's  sister;  for  that  young  lady's  swishing  cut 
with  the  whip  had  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  colts' 
nerves. 

Kathleen  herself  had  not  uttered  a  word,  nor  had 
she  grasped  the  seat  rail,  even  when  in  danger  of 
collision.  Now  she  sat  upright,  an  angry  color  in  her 
cheeks,  her  mouth  set  in  a  straight  line,  and  the  whip 
still  in  her  hand.  She  met  Angus'  eyes  with  a  defiant 
stare. 

"Well?"  she  said. 

"I  didn't  say  anything." 

"You're  thinking  a  lot,  though." 

"Ami?" 

"Yes,  you  are !  And  don't  you  say  a  word  of  it 
to  me.  I  can't  stand  it." 

"I  am  not  going  to  say  anything,"  Angus  told  her, 
and  stared  ahead  over  the  colts'  ears,  in  which  com- 
panionable fashion  they  drove  for  nearly  two  miles. 
Then  he  felt  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"I'm  sorry,  Angus.  I  was  utterly  rude.  Let  it  go, 
won't  you?" 

"Of  course,"  he  assented.     "I  wasn't  any  too  polite 


THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN  79 

myself.     The  team  nearly  got  away  from  me." 

"And  then  you  think  I  shouldn't  have  taken  the 
whip  to  Blake." 

"You  might  have  taken  an  ax  to  him  for  all  I'd 
care,"  Angus  admitted. 

"Hello!"  she  said.  "Have  you  had  any  trouble 
with  Blake?" 

"No  real  trouble."  He  told  her  what  had  occurred. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  used  the  whip,"  she  commented. 
"He  won't  be  proud  of  it — before  his  friends.  Wait 
till  I  see  the  boys  !  A  nice  lot,  sending  Blake — Blake  ! 
— to  meet  me."  Her  teeth  clicked  over  the  words. 
"I  suppose,"  she  went  on  bitterly  after  a  pause, 
"there's  a  black  sheep  in  every  family.  But  in  some 
families — What  do  you  think  of  our  family? 

Angus  stared  at  her.  He  had  never  thought  much 
about  the  Frenches,  who  were  outside  his  orbit.  Being 
young,  one  side  of  him  had  at  times  envied  their  easy 
life;  but  another  side  of  him  held  for  them  the  grim, 
bitter  scorn  of  the  worker  for  the  idler  and  waster. 
These  things,  however,  were  far  below  the  surface. 

"I  don't  know  your  family  very  well,"  he  said. 

She  did  not  press  the  question. 

"That  is  so.  Angus — I  hope  you  don't  mind  being 
called  that,  any  more  than  I  mind  being  called  by  my 
first  name — we've  known  each  other  for  years,  but  not 
very  well.  Perhaps  we'll  know  each  other  better. 
I'm  home  for  good.  I'm  supposed  to  be  a  young 
lady,  now." 

"Are  you?"  said  Angus.     She  laughed. 

"My  education — polite  and  otherwise — is  finished. 
That  is  what  I  mean.  I  am  now  prepared  to  settle 
down  to  the  serious  business  of  life — of  a  young 
woman's  life." 


8o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"And  what  is  that?" 

"If  you  don't  know  I  won't  tell  you.  Never  mind 
about  me.  Tell  me  about  yourself." 

"Myself?   Oh,  I've  just  been  living  on  the  ranch." 

She  considered  him  gravely,  and  he  stared  back. 
Whatever  she  saw,  he  found  her  decidedly  good  to 
look  upon,  not  only  because  of  her  eyes  and  hair  and 
clear,  satiny  skin,  but  because  of  the  lithe,  clean-run 
shape  of  her,  which  he  admired  as  he  would  that  of  a 
horse,  or  an  athlete's  in  training.  She  broke  the 
silence  abruptly. 

"Do  you  know  what  my  trunk  weighs?" 

He  glanced  back  at  it,  shaking  his  head.  "No. 
It's  riding  all  right  there." 

"Do  you  know  what  I  weigh?" 

"Perhaps  a  hundred  and  thirty." 

"Ten  pounds  more.  And  the  trunk  weighs  more 
than  two  hundred." 

"Well,  what  about  it?"  Angus  asked,  puzzled. 

"What  about  it?  Are  you  in  the  habit  of  picking 
up  trunks  like  that  as  if  they  were  meat  platters,  and 
girls  as  if  they  were  babies?  I  was  watching  you, 
and  you  didn't  even  breathe  hard." 

"Oh,  is  that  it?"  Angus  laughed.  "That's  noth- 
ing. Any  of  your  brothers  could  handle  that  trunk." 

"Gavin  could,  of  course.     But  he's  very  strong." 

"Well?"  said  Angus,  smiling  at  her. 

"Why,  yes,  you  must  be.  But  I've  always  thought 
of  you  as  a  boy.  And  I  suppose  you've  thought 
of  me  as  a  gawky,  long-legged  girl." 

"I  haven't  thought  of  you  at  all,"  Angus  told  her. 

"Now  I  know  I'm  going  to  like  you,"  she  laughed. 
"I  don't  know  a  man — except  my  brothers,  who  of 
course  don't  count — who  would  have  told  me  that/' 


THE  FRENCHES  AGAIN  81 

Angus  flushed,  but  stuck  to  his  guns. 

"Well,  why  should  I  think  of  you?" 

"No  reason.  You  don't  know  much  about  girls, 
do  you?" 

"Not  a  thing.     I  have  had  no  time  for  them." 

"And  no  use  for  them !" 

"I  did  not  say  that." 

"But  you  looked  it,  Angus.  I'll  never  forget  the 
look  of  relief  on  your  face  years  ago  when  we 
appeared  to  take  poor,  little  lost  Faith  Winton  off 
your  hands — and  off  your  pony.  And  yet  she  liked 
you.  She  speaks  still  of  how  good  and  kind  you 
were  to  her,  though  you  frightened  her  at  first." 

"She  must  be  thinking  of  Jean's  doughnuts," 
Angus  grinned.  "I  had  forgotten  all  about  it.  Where 
is  she  now?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  and  her  father  were  in  Italy 
when  I  heard  from  her  last." 

"She  would  be  grown  up,"  Angus  deduced.  "I 
wonder  if  I  would  know  her?" 

But  the  French  ranch  hove  in  sight,  its  big  two- 
story  house  and  maze  of  stables  in  a  setting  of 
uncared-for  fields,  which  Angus  never  saw  without 
something  akin  to  pain.  A  chorus  of  dogs  greeted 
the  sound  of  wheels,  and  half  a  dozen  of  them  shot 
around  the  corner  of  the  house. 

Angus  liked  dogs,  but  not  when  he  was  driving 
colts.  But  just  as  they  began  to  dance  and  the  nigh 
bay  had  lashed  out  with  a  vicious  hoof,  Gavin  French 
came  around  the  corner,  and  at  his  command  the  dogs 
shrank  as  if  he  had  laid  a  whip  across  them.  Just 
then  Gavin  was  wearing  riding  breeches,  moccasins, 
and  a  flannel  shirt  wide  open  at  the  throat  and  stagged 
off  at  the  sleeves,  so  that  the  bronzed  column  of  his 


82         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

neck  and  the  full  sweep  of  his  long,  splendidly 
muscled  arms  were  revealed.  He  strode  softly,  cat- 
footed,  gripping  with  his  toes,  and  the  smoke  of  the 
short  pipe  which  was  his  inseparable  companion, 
drifted  behind  him. 

"Hello,  Kit!"  he  said,  and  nodded  to  Angus. 
"Where  is  Blake?  He  went  for  you." 

"Blake's  drunk,"  Kathleen  replied. 

"Drunk,  is  he?"  Gavin  said  without  surprise. 

"And  you're  a  nice  bunch  of  brothers  to  send  him ! 
Couldn't  one  of  you  have  come?" 

"Oh,  well,  he  was  going,  anyway,"  said  Gavin 
carelessly.  "Did  you  see  him?" 

"Yes,  I  saw  him.  He  tried  to  stop  Angus'  team 
on  the  main  street,  and  I  slashed  him  back  with  the 
whip." 

"You  little  devil!"  said  her  brother,  but  with  a 
certain  admiration  in  his  voice.  "But  that's  pretty 
hard  medicine,  Kit!" 

"And  what  sort  of  medicine  is  it  for  me  to  have 
a  drunken  blackguard  of  a  brother  run  out  on  the 
street  to  hold  up  the  rig  I'm  driving  in?'*  she  flared. 
"I'm  entitled  to  ordinary  respect;  even  if  I  am  a  sister, 
and  Blake  and  all  of  you  had  better  understand  it 
now." 

"Pshaw !"  said  Gavin.  "The  trouble  with  you,  Kit, 
is  that  you've  got  a  wire  edge.  You're  set  on  a  hair- 
trigger." 

"And  the  trouble  with  Blake  and  the  whole  lot 
of  you  is  that  you've  run  wild,"  she  retorted.  "You've 
got  so  that  you  don't  care  for  anything  or  anybody. 
You're  practically  savages.  But  I  can  tell  you,  you'll 
remember  some  of  the  ordinary  usages  of  civilization 
now  I'm  home." 


83, 

"And  a  sweet  temper  you've  come  back  in!"  said 
Gavin.  He  lifted  his  sister  down  over  the  wheel  and 
reached  for  the  trunk. 

"It's  heavy,  Gan,"  she  said,  with  a  glance  at 
Angus. 

"Is  it?"  said  Gavin,  gripping  the  handles.  He  lifted 
it  without  apparent  effort,  and  set  it  on  his  right 
shoulder.  "I  may  be  able  to  stagger  along  with  it," 
he  told  her  ironically.  "Would  you  like  me  to  carry 
you,  too?" 

"You  can't  I" 

"Can't  I?"  laughed  the  blond  giant.  "Have  you 
any  money  left  to  bet  on  that?" 

"Five  dollars  that  you  can't  carry  me  and  the  trunk 
— upstairs  and  to  my  room." 

"My  five,"  said  her  brother.  "Come  here."  With 
the  trunk  on  his  shoulder  he  bent  his  knees  till  he 
squatted  low  on  the  balls  of  his  feet.  "Now  sit  on 
my  shoulder  and  put  your  right  arm  around  my  neck. 
Give  me  your  left  hand.  All  set?" 

"All  set." 

Angus  watched  with  interest,  doubtful  if  he  could 
do  it.  But  slowly,  steadily,  without  shake  or  tremor 
the  knees  of  the  big  man  began  to  straighten,  and  his 
shoulders  topped  by  girl  and  trunk  to  rise,  until  he 
stood  upright.  Upright  he  hitched  to  get  a  better 
balance,  and  strode  off  for  the  house  as  easily  as 
Angus  himself  would  have  carried  a  sack  of  oats. 
Kathleen  looked  back  at  him  and  laughed. 

"Good-by,  Angus.  Thank  you  ever  so  much — 
and  come  and  see  me." 

The  last  thing  Angus  saw  as  he  wheeled  the  colts 
for  home,  was  the  burdened  bulk  of  Gavin  French 
stooping  for  the  doorway. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

OLD  SAM  PAUL  MAKES  A  PROPOSITION 

JEAN  arrived  on  the  next  boat  three  days  later, 
with  a  tragic  tale  of  missed  connections.  It 
seemed  to  Angus  that  the  few  months  of  absence 
had  made  quite  a  difference.  She  seemed,  in  fact, 
almost  a  young  lady,  even  to  his  brotherly  eye. 

But  however  she  had  changed  she  had  not  lost  her 
grip  on  practical  things,  and  when  she  began  to  look 
around  the  house  Angus  and  Turkey  found  that  their 
trouble  in  cleaning  up  had  been  wasted.  For  Jean 
dug  into  corners,  and  under  and  behind  things  where, 
as  Turkey  said,  nobody  but  a  girl  would  ever  think 
of  looking;  and  in  such  obscure  and  out-of-the-way 
places  she  found  some  dirt,  some  articles  discarded 
or  lost,  and  the  more  or  less  permanent  abode  of  Tom 
and  Matilda. 

Tom  and  Matilda  were  mice,  which  had  become 
thoroughly  tame  and  domesticated.  In  the  evenings 
Rennie  fed  them  oatmeal  and  scraps  of  cheese, 
chuckling  to  see  them  sit  up  on  their  hunkers  and 
polish  their  whiskers  and  wink  their  beady,  little 
eyes,  and  all  hands  had  united  in  keeping  the  cats  out. 
Everybody  had  regarded  Tom  and  Matilda  as  good 
citizens  •  and  they  had  developed  a  simple  and  touch- 
ing trust  in  mankind.  But  Jean  broke  up  their  home 
ruthlessly,  with  exclamations  of  disgust;  and  com- 
mandeering all  the  men  for  a  day,  turned  the  house 
inside  out,  beat,  swept,  washed  and  scrubbed;  and 
then  put  everything  back  again.  She  professed  to  see 

84 


SAM  PAUL  MAKES  A  PROPOSITION    85 

a  great  difference,  but  nobody  else  agreed  with  her. 

"The  only  difference  I  see,"  said  Turkey,  "is  that  I 
don't  know  where  to  find  a  darn  thing." 

"Well,  you  won't  find  it  on  the  floor,  or  under  a 
heap  of  rubbish  six  months  old,"  Jean  told  him. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  Turkey  grumbled.  "Now  you've 
got  all  our  things  mixed  up  maybe  you'll  be  satisfied." 

Jean  appealed  to  Angus,  who  agreed  with  Turkey. 
Whereat  Jean  sniffed  and  left  them  to  their  opinions. 

Angus  was  a  little  apprehensive  of  his  first  meeting 
Blake  French,  but  to  his  relief  the  latter  chose  to 
ignore  what  had  occurred.  Rather  to  his  surprise 
Kathleen  rode  over  to  call  on  Jean,  and  the  two  girls 
struck  up  a  certain  friendship.  Thus  Angus  saw  more 
of  Kathleen  and  her  people  than  he  had  ever  done 
before,  including  the  head  of  the  family,  Godfrey 
French  himself. 

Godfrey  French,  though  well  on  in  years,  was  still 
erect  and  spare.  He  had  a  cold,  blue  eye,  much  like 
Gavin's,  but  now  a  trifle  weary,  and  a  slightly  bent 
cynical  mouth  beneath  a  white  moustach.  He  was 
invariably  courteous  and  dignified,  and  whatever 
might  be  said  of  his  sons,  there  was  no  doubt  that  the 
father  possessed  the  ingrained  manner  of  a  gentle- 
man. Yet  Angus  did  not  like  him,  and  he  thought 
that  old  French  had  little  or  no  use  for  him.  Some- 
how, French  put  him  in  mind  of  a  gray-muzzled  old 
fox. 

One  day  in  mid-summer  as  Angus  sat  in  the  shade 
of  the  workshop  mending  a  broken  harness,  old  Paul 
Sam  on  his  single-footing  pony  drew  up  at  the  door. 

"  'Al-lo  !"  he  greeted. 

"Hello,  Paul  Sam,"  Angus  returned.  "You  feel 
skookum  to-day?" 


86        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Skookum,  me,"  the  Indian  replied.  "Skookum, 
you?" 

"Skookum,  me,"  Angus  told  him. 

The  old  man  got  off  his  pony,  sat  down  on  an  empty 
box,  and  drew  out  an  old  buckskin,  bead-worked  fire- 
bag.  From  this  he  produced  a  stone  pipe  bowl  and  a 
reed  stem.  Fitting  the  two  together  he  filled  the  bowl 
and  smoked. 

This,  Angus  knew,  was  diplomacy.  Whatever  the 
Indian  had  come  for,  not  a  word  concerning  it  would 
he  say  till  he  had  had  his  smoke.  Then  it  would 
probably  be  unimportant.  So  Angus  waited  in  silence, 
and  Paul  Sam  smoked  in  silence.  Finally  the  latter 
tapped  out  and  unjointed  his  pipe  and  put  it  away  in 
his  firebag. 

"Me  got  cooley  kuitan,"  he  announced. 

"Cooley"  is  apparently  a  corruption  of  the  French 
word  "courir,"  to  run.  "Kuitan"  is  a  horse.  Hence 
a  "cooley  kuitan"  in  Chinook  signifies  a  race  horse. 

Angus  shook  his  head.  He  knew  very  well  what 
Sam  Paul  intended  doing  with  this  race  horse.  There 
was  a  local  race  meet  each  year,  in  connection  with 
the  local  fair.  The  race  meet  outsized  the  fair, 
dwarfed  it  in  interest.  It  drew  tin  horns  and  sure- 
thing  gamblers  as  fresh  meat  draws  flies.  These 
gentry  ran  various  games,  open  when  they  could  and 
under  cover  when  they  could  not.  Then  there  were 
men  with  a  seasoned  old  ringer  under  a  new  name,  or 
a  couple  of  skates  with  which  to  pull  off  a  faked 
match  race.  There  were  various  races,  but  the  big 
event  was  a  mile  for  horses  locally  owned.  There 
was  some  excellent  stock  in  the  country,  and  great 
rivalry  developed. 

In  this  race  each  year  the  Indians  had  entered  some 


SAM  PAUL  MAKES  A  PROPOSITION    87 

alleged  running  horse  and  backed  it  gamely.  But 
each  year  they  lost,  their  horses  being  neither  trained 
nor  ridden  properly,  and  being  completely  outclassed 
as  well;  for  as  a  rule  they  were  merely  good  saddle 
cayuses  and  overweighted  at  that.  This  year  French's 
horse,  a  beautiful,  bright  bay  named  Flambeau, 
seemed  likely  to  win.  Angus  had  seen  him  and 
admired  him.  Therefore  he  shook  his  head. 

"You  only  think  you've  got  a  cooley  kuitan,"  he 
said.  "Keep  out  of  that  race,  Paul  Sam.  You'll 
only  lose  money." 

"Him  good,"  the  Indian  insisted.  "S'pose  him 
get  good  rider  him  win.  Injun  boy  no  good  to  ride. 
Injun  boy  all  right  in  Injun  race;  no  good  in  white 
man's  race." 

"That's  true  enough,"  Angus  agreed.  "Injun  boy 
don't  kumtux  the  game.  Well,  what  about  it?" 

"Mebbe-so  you  catch  white  boy  to  ride  um?"  Paul 
Sam  suggested. 

"Do  you  mean  Turkey?"  Angus  queried. 

"Ha-a-lo,"  Paul  Sam  negatived.  "White  boy,  all 
same  ride  white  man's  horse." 

"A  jockey!    Where  would  I  get  you  a  jockey?" 

But  that  detail  was  none  of  Paul  Sam's  business. 

"You  catch  um  jock!"  he  said  hopefully. 

"But  I  don't  know  where  to  get  one.  A  jockey 
would  cost  money,  and  you  wouldn't  win,  anyway. 
You  Injuns  start  a  horse  every  year,  and  you  never 
have  one  that  has  a  look-in.  You'd  better  get  the  idea 
out  of  your  head." 

But  an  idea  once  implanted  in  an  Indian's  head  is 
apt  to  stay.  Paul  Sam  grinned  complacently. 

"Me  got  dam'  good  cooley  kuitan.  Me  kumtux 
kuitan." 


88         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

He  told  Angus  the  history  of  his  horse,  as  he  knew 
it.  Stripped  of  details,  it  amounted  to  this:  Some 
five  years  before  a  fine  English  mare  which  had  been 
the  property  of  a  deceased  remittance  man,  had  been 
auctioned  off.  She  was  in  foal,  and  the  colt  in  due 
course  had  been  sold,  and  in  some  obscure  and 
involved  cattle  deal  had  become  the  property  of  Paul 
Sam,  who  had  let  him  run  with  his  cayuses.  When 
he  broke  him  to  the  saddle  he  found  him  remarkably 
fast.  Being  a  real  fox,  he  said  nothing  about  the 
colt's  turn  of  speed,  but  bided  his  time.  Now,  in  his 
opinion,  he  could  make  a  killing  and  spoil  the  Egyp- 
tian, alias  the  white  man,  if  only  the  colt  were  prop- 
erly trained  and  ridden.  He  applied  to  Angus  for 
help,  as  being  the  son  of  his  tillikum,  Adam  Mackay. 
He  invited  him  out  to  inspect  the  horse. 

Angus  went  and  took  Dave  Rennie.  The  horse 
which  Paul  Sam  led  forth  for  inspection  was  a  big, 
slashing  four-year-old,  with  a  good  head,  an  honest 
eye,  deep  chest  and  clean,  fiat  limbs.  Every  line  of 
him  told  of  power  and  endurance;  and  to  the  eye 
which  could  translate  power  into  terms  of  speed,  of 
the  latter  as  well.  Rennie  whistled  softly. 

"He  looks  to  me  like  he  had  real  blood  in  him. 
He's  a  weight  carrier.  English  hunting  stock,  I  sh'd 
say.  Some  of  'em  can  run,  all  right.  If  the  mare 
was  in  foal  when  she  was  brought  out,  I  wouldn't 
wonder  if  this  boy's  sire  was  real  class.  He  looks  it." 
The  big  horse  reached  out  a  twitching  muzzle  to 
investigate.  Rennie  stroked  the  velvet  nose.  "Kind 
as  a  kitten,  too.  He  seems  to  have  the  build,  but 
that  don't  say  he  can  run." 

'Him  run,"  Paul  Sam  affirmed.    "You  ride  him." 

He  cinched  an  old  stock  saddle  on  the  chestnut, 


SAM  PAUL  MAKES  A  PROPOSITION    89 

and  Rennie  mounted.  He  cantered  easily  across  the 
fiat  and  back. 

"He's  easy  as  an  old  rocker  and  light  as  a  driftin' 
cloud,"  he  said.  "The  bit  worries  him,  though.  He 
needs  rubber.  You  get  on  him,  and  see  what  a  real 
horse  feels  like." 

Angus  lengthened  the  stirrups  and  swung  up.  As 
soon  as  he  felt  the  motion  he  knew  he  was  astride  a 
wondrous  piece  of  mechanism.  The  undulating  lift 
of  the  big  chestnut  was  as  easy  and  effortless  and  sus- 
tained as  a  smooth,  rolling  swell.  Of  his  own  accord 
the  horse  quickened  his  pace  from  the  easy  sling  of 
the  canter  to  a  long,  stretching,  hand-gallop,  drawing 
great  lungfuls  of  air,  shaking  his  head,  rejoicing  in 
his  own  motion,  glad  to  be  doing  the  work  he  was 
fitted  for.  At  the  end  of  the  little  flat  Angus  pulled 
tip  and  turned.  Rennie's  distant  shout  came  faintly : 

"Let  him  come !" 

Breathing  the  horse  for  a  moment,  Angus  loosed 
him  from  the  canter  to  the  gallop  and  then,  as  he 
felt  the  coil  and  uncoil  of  the  splendid  muscles,  and 
the  swell  and  quiver  of  the  body,  and  the  increasing 
reach  and  stretch  of  the  ever-quickening  stride,  he  let 
him  run. 

All  his  life  Angus  had  ridden  ponies,  cayuses,  but 
now  he  had  a  new  experience.  The  big  chestnut,  as 
he  was  given  his  head,  made  half  a  dozen  great 
bounds  and  then,  steadying  himself,  he  stretched  his 
neck,  his  body  seemed  to  sink  and  straighten,  and 
with  muzzle  almost  in  line  with  his  ears  he  began  to 
put  forth  the  speed  that  was  in  him.  The  rapid  drum 
of  his  hoofs  quickened  to  a  roar;  the  wind  sang  in 
Angus'  ears;  the  figures  of  Paul  and  Sam  and  Rennie 
seemed  to  come  toward  him,  and  he  shot  past  them 


9o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

and  gradually  eased  the  willing  horse  to  canter  and 
walk. 

"Him  cooley  kuitan,  hey?"  Paul  Sara  grinned. 
"You  catch  um  jock?" 

"But  I  don't  know  where  to  get  one,"  Angus 
replied. 

"Well,"  said  Rennie,  "I  don't  know  where  to  get 
no  regular  jockey,  but  I  know  an  old  has-been  that 
used  to  ride  twenty  years  ago,  before  he  got  smashed 
up.  I  dunno  's  he'd  ride  now,  in  a  race,  but  he  could 
put  the  horse  in  shape.  He's  got  a  fruit  and  chicken 
ranch  somewheres  on  the  coast.  Me  and  him  was 
kids  together,  and  he  might  come  if  I  asked  him. 
Only  he  wouldn't  do  it  for  nothing." 

"You  catch  um,"  said  Paul  Sam.  "Me  pay  um. 
Mebbe-so  me  win  hiyu  dolla!" 


CHAPTER  IX 

DORGAN 

IN   due   course   a   small,    clean-shaven   man   who 
walked  with  a  slight  limp  surveyed  the  big  chest- 
nut with  a  shrewd,  bright  eye.    This  was  Rennie's 
friend,  the  ex-jockey. 

"Like  his  looks,  Pete?"    Rennie  queried. 

Pete,  whose  surname  was  Dorgan,  nodded.  "I 
like  'em  some  ways,"  he  admitted.  "He's  got  power 
to  burn,  and  that'll  give  him  speed — some.  In  five 
miles  he'd  be  runnin'  strong,  but  he  might  not  be  fast 
enough  at  a  mile.  'Course,  I  don't  know  nothin' 
about  what  he'll  be  up  ag'inst.  What  time  has  this 
race  been  run  in,  other  years?"  When  Angus  told 
him  he  grunted.  "Good  as  that?  Must  be  some  real 
horses  here.  You're  sure  he  ain't  stolen?  I  wouldn't 
want  to  be  mixed  up  in  a  deal  like  that,  even  if  I  am 
out  of  the  game." 

"He  ain't  stolen.  This  old  Injun  is  as  straight  as 
you  are." 

"Well,  I've  been  called  crooked  before  now," 
Dorgan  grinned.  "But  if  you  say  so,  Dave,  I  guess 
this  old  boy  is  all  right.  You  can  tell  him  I'll  put  the 
horse  in  the  best  shape  I  can,  and  maybe  I'll  ride  him. 
If  I  don't,  I'll  get  a  boy.  But  I  ain't  goin'  to  live  with 
a  bunch  of  Injuns  while  I'm  doin'  it,  and  the  horse  has 
to  be  taken  out  of  here."  He  eyed  Paul  Sam's  primi- 
tive stable  arrangements  with  disgust.  "He's  ruinin' 
his  feet." 

91 


92         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Paul  Sam  made  no  objection,  and  the  big  chestnut 
which  Dorgan  christened  "Chief,"  was  brought  to 
the  Mackay  ranch.  There  he  was  installed  in  a  dis- 
used building  which  lay  behind  the  other  stables  and 
some  distance  from  them. 

"The  way  I  get  it,"  said  Dorgan,  "we  better  keep 
this  horse  under  cover  as  long  as  we  can.  From  what 
you  say,  there  ain't  been  no  class  to  the  hay-hounds 
the  Siwashes  has  started  other  years,  and  so  an  Injun 
entry  is  a  joke  entry.  Nobody  knows  this  horse,  and 
seein'  him  the  way  he  is  now,  not  many'd  pipe  what  he 
really  is  unless  they  was  wised  up.  But  you  let  some 
of  these  wise  local  birds  lamp  him  after  I've  had  him 
a  couple  of  weeks,  and  they  might  smell  something. 
Then  I  may's  well  keep  dark  myself.  Not  that  I'm 
ashamed  of  myself  more'n  I  ought  to  be,  but  some- 
body might  remember  me,  though  I  ain't  ridden  for 
years.  So  I'll  be  an  extra  hand  you've  hired,  see? 
Me  and  Chief  will  take  our  work-outs  on  the  quiet 
as  long  as  we  can." 

So  Dorgan  gave  the  horse  his  exercise  on  a  little 
prairie  a  mile  back  of  the  ranch.  As  he  had  predicted, 
a  couple  of  weeks  made  a  vast  difference  in  his  appear- 
ance. Groomed  till  his  chestnut  coat  was  gleaming, 
dappled  satin,  his  feet  trimmed  and  cleaned  and 
polished  and  shod  by  Dorgan  himself,  fed  bright, 
clean  grain  and  savory  mashes  and  bedded  to  the 
knees  nightly  in  sweet  straw,  Chief  tasted  for  the  first 
time  the  joys  of  the  equine  aristocracy  to  which  he 
belonged. 

But  somehow  the  rumor  that  the  Indians  had  a 
mysterious  horse  and  rider  got  going,  and  one  day 
Dorgan,  who  had  been  to  town,  came  to  Angus. 

"Say,"  he  said,  "do  you  know  a  hard-faced  bird, 


DORGAN  93 

near  as  big  as  you  are  but  older  and  heavier,  that 
looks  like  a  bad  actor  and  likes  the  juice  ?  He  seems 
to  be  the  king-pin  of  a  bunch  of  young  rye-hounds 
that  think  they're  sports." 

"Do  you  mean  Blake  French?" 

"That's  the  outfit  that  owns  this  Flambeau  horse, 
ain't  it?" 

"Yes.    What  about  it?" 

"Nothin'  much.  He'd  have  bought  me  a  lot  of 
friendship  sealers  if  I'd  let  him.  Then  there  was  a 
feller,  name  of  Garland,  that  thinks  he's  a  warm 
member,  and  claimed  he'd  seen  me  ridin'  long  ago 
when  he  was  a  kid.  He  might  of,  at  that.  They 
sorter  fished  around  to  find  out  what  I  was  doin' 
here.  But  they  know,  all  right.  If  I  was  crooked 
I  b'lieve  I  could  do  business  with  them  two." 

"I've  never  heard  that  they  would  do  anything 
crooked.  Of  course  they  might  try  to  find  out  all 
they  could." 

"If  I'd  taken  all  the  crooked  money  I've  been 
offered,"  said  Dorgan,  "and  got  away  with  it,  I 
wouldn't  need  to  be  worryin'  about  apples  and  chick- 
ens now.  I  know  when  a  feller's  feelin'  me  out,  same 
as  I  know  when  a  couple  of  young  burglars  is  holdin' 
a  pocket  open  for  me  to  ride  into." 

"But  they  don't  know  if  Paul  Sam's  horse  can  run 
or  not." 

"That's  their  trouble.  But  if  they  can  fix  some- 
body, they  don't  need  to  care." 

A  couple  of  days  after  this,  Angus,  coming  around 
Chief's  quarters  from  the  rear,  overheard  Dorgan 
earnestly  assuring  Kathleen  French  that  Chief  was 
quarantined  for  threatened  influenza;  and  further 
that  he  was  a  saddle  horse,  pure  and  simple,  with  no 


94        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

more  speed  than  a  cow.  With  a  glance  at  Angus 
which  was  intended  to  convey  grave  warning,  he  beat 
a  retreat. 

"Who  is  the  remarkable  liar?"     Kathleen  asked. 

"Is  he  that?     His  name  is  Pete  Dorgan." 

"If  you  have  a  deadline  on  the  place  you  ought  to 
put  up  a  sign,"  she  told  him.  "How  did  I  know  I  was 
butting  in?" 

"How  do  you  know  it  now?" 

"Because  I  have  average  intelligence.  I  didn't 
know  there  was  a  horse  here  at  all.  I  was  looking 
for  Jean,  and  when  I  saw?  a  perfectly  splendid, 
strange  animal,  naturally  I  stopped  to  look  at  him. 
I  also  saw  a  little,  flat  pigskin  saddle,  and  I  saw  that 
the  horse  was  wearing  plates.  Then  this  Dorgan 
appeared  and  lied  straight  ahead  without  the  least 
provocation,  looking  me  in  the  face  without  the  quiver 
of  an  eyelash.  I  didn't  ask  him  a  single  question, 
I  give  you  my  word. 

"There's  no  special  reason  why  you  shouldn't. 
The  horse  isn't  mine.  But  the  fact  is,  his  owner  and 
Dorgan  aren't  saying  anything  about  him." 

"Angus!  he  isn't — but  no,  of  course  he  isn't!" 

"Isn't  what?" 

"A  ringer.  I'm  sorry.  I  know  you  wouldn't  go 
into  anything  like  that  if  you  knew  it." 

Angus  laughed.  "He's  no  ringer.  He  belongs  to 
Paul  Sam."  He  told  her  as  much  as  he  thought 
necessary  of  the  animal's  history. 

"Thanks  for  the  confidence,"  she  nodded.  "I'll 
say  nothing  about  it  If  you  had  treated  me  as 
Dorgan  did,  I  should  have  felt  hurt." 

"He  didn't  know  you.  He  thinks  this  horse  will 
give  you  a  race." 


DORGAN  95 

"What,  beat  Flambeau  1"  she  cried.     "Nonsense!" 

"Well,  he  seems  to  be  a  pretty  good  horse." 

"Then  I'll  bet  you  an  even  hundred  now!"  she 
challenged. 

"No,  no.    I  don't  want  to  bet  with  you." 

"Oh,  you  needn't  have  any  scruples.  The  boys 
take  my  money — when  they  can  get  it." 

"But  I  don't  think  I'll  bet  at  all." 

"Then  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  with  the 
horse?"  she  asked  in  frank  astonishment. 

"He  is  just  stabled  here." 

"But  I  don't  see  why  you  won't  bet  if  you  think  the 
horse  has  a  good  chance." 

"Because  I  can't  afford  to  lose." 

"But  that  makes  it  all  the  more  exciting." 

"It  makes  it  all  the  more  foolish,"  Angus  told  her 
grimly.  "It  is  all  very  well  for  you;  you  people  can 
afford  to  play  with  money." 

"How  do  you  know  we  can?" 

"Well,  I've  always  heard  so." 

"And  therefore  it  must  be  so."  She  switched  the 
grass,  looking  down.  "Well,  whether  it  is  or  not, 
we're  born  gamblers — the  whole  family.  Perhaps 
we  can't  help  it.  But  sometimes — sometimes  I  wish 
it  were  different.  I  wish  the  boys  would  work  as  you 
work;  and — and  that  I  were  a  home  girl  with  a  nice 
big  brother." 

"You  have  enough  big  brothers,"  Angus  told  her. 
"I  think  myself  it  would  do  them  no  harm  to  work, 
but  it  is  none  of  my  business.  I  did  not  mean  to  seem 
curious  about  your  affairs.  Anyway,  some  day  you 
will  be  marrying  and  leaving  them." 

"Perhaps,"  she  admitted.  "The  chief  end  of — 
woman !  Oh,  I  suppose  so — some  day.  Well  ?" 


96        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"That's  all.  You  will  likely  marry  somebody  with 
plenty  of  money,  and  then  you  will  go  away." 

"Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  marry  for  money?" 

"No,  but  if  your  husband  has  it,  it  will  be  no  draw- 
back. Lots  of  these  young  fellows  who  go  to  your 
ranch  are  well  fixed — or  will  be  when  somebody  dies." 

"How  nicely  you  arrange  my  future.  Which  one 
of  them  am  I  to  marry,  please?" 

"Whichever  one  you  love  best." 

"What  on  earth  do  you  know  about  love,  Angus 
Mackay?" 

"Nothing  at  all.  But  that  is  why  people  get 
married,  isn't  it?" 

"I  think  I  have  heard  so,"  she  said  dryly.  "Will 
that  be  why  you  will  marry — some  day?" 

"Why  else?" 

"Oh,  Scotch!  A  question  with  a  question !  Would 
you  marry  for  any  other  reason?" 

"I  would  not  marry  a  girl  because  she  had  money," 
said  Angus,  "because  the  money  would  not  be  worth 
the  nuisance  of  her  if  I  didn't  love  her." 

Kathleen  laughed  at  this  frank  statement,  and  went 
to  find  Jean.  Angus'  reflections  as  to  Kathleen  were 
broken  by  the  reappearance  of  Dorgan. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?"  said  the  little  man.  "I 
guess  my  dope  was  poor,  huh!" 

"Your  dope  on  what?" 

"On  what?  On  them  fellers  I  was  talkin'  to 
yesterday.  Now  here's  French's  sister  comes  on  the 
scout.  When  I  seen  her  she  was  sure  gettin'  an  eye- 
ful of  Chief." 

"She  was  looking  for  my  sister.  She  told  me  how 
it  happened." 

"I'll  gamble  she  did,"  Dorgan  returned  skeptically, 


DORGAN  97 

"and  I  s'pose  you  fell  for  it,  like  young  fellers  do. 
When  a  crook  can't  get  the  real  dope  any  other  way, 
he  plants  a  woman.  That  skirt " 

"Go  easy,"  Angus  warned  him.  "That  young  lady 
is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"She  ain't  a  friend  of  mine,  and  I  got  my  own  idea 
of  what  she  was  here  for.  If  you  don't  like  it  I'll 
keep  it  to  myself.  ' 

"You're  barking  up  the  wrong  tree,"  Angus 
laughed.  "She's  as  straight  as  they  make  them. 
She  says  you're  a  remarkable  liar,  if  you  want  to 
know." 

Dorgan  grinned.  "I  said  she  was  wise.  Maybe 
my  work  was  a  little  raw,  but  she  took  me  by  sur- 
prise, and  I  was  just  doin'  the  best  I  could  off-hand." 

"You  can't  keep  the  horse  cached  forever." 

"That's  all  right.  There's  no  use  tellin'  what  you 
know  most  times.  This  Flambeau  from  what  I  hear 
will  carry  a  whole  bunch  of  money  for  them  Frenches. 
They're  givin'  as  good  as  five  to  three  against  the 
field.  That  means  they  got  the  field  sized  up,  or 
fixed.  But  they  ain't  got  a  line  on  Chief,  nor  they 
ain't  got  me  fixed,  so  their  calculations  has  been  clean 
upset.  Somebody's  been  watchin'  me  exercise,  the 
last  day  or  two,  but  whoever  it  is  ain't  had  a  chance 
to  clock  nothin',  because  they  don't  know  the  dis- 
tances, and  anyway  I  didn't  let  him  out.  They  ain't 
wise  to  him,  but  they're  wise  to  me.  They  dope  it 
out  I  wouldn't  be  wastin'  time  on  a  horse  that  hadn't 
a  chance.  See  what  I'm  gettin'  at?  A  pill  or  the 
needle  would  put  Chief  out  of  the  money." 

"Nobody  around  here  would  do  that,"  Angus  told 
him. 

"They  wouldn't  hey?"  said  Dorgan  with  sarcasm. 


98        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Let  me  tell  you  that  right  in  the  bushes  is  the  place 
they  put  over  stuff  they  couldn't  get  by  with  nowheres 
else.  The  things  I've  seen  pulled  at  these  little,  local 
races  would  chill  your  blood.  There's  a  bunch  of 
murderers  follows  'em  up  that'd  hamstring  a  horse 
or  sandbag  an  owner  for  a  ten-case  note." 

"But — "  Angus  began. 

"But — nothing,"  Dorgan  interrupted  with  con- 
tempt. "Don't  you  s'pose  I've  been  in  the  game 
long  enough  to  know  it?  There'll  be  a  bunch  of 
tinhorns  and  a  wreckin'  crew  of  crooked  racin'  men 
with  a  couple  of  outlaw  horses,  all  workin'  together 
to  skin  the  suckers.  All  them  Frenches  have  to  do 
is  to  say  it's  worth  fifty  to  fix  any  horse.  You  can 
maybe  tell  me  things  about  raisin'  alfalfa,  but  not 
about  racin'.  When  a  woman  gets  into  the  game, 
it's  serious.  After  this  I'm  goin'  to  sleep  right  here." 


CHAPTER  X 

BEFORE  THE  RACE 

A  few  days  before  the  race  Dorgan  moved  Chief 
to  one  of  half  a  dozen  sheds  on  the  fair  grounds, 
which  a  load  of  lumber  and  another  of  straw  made 
comfortable.  There  he  dwelt  with  him,  giving  him 
easy  exercise  and  sizing  up  the  other  horses. 

"Outside  this  Flambeau  there  ain't  much  to  worry 
about,"  he  concluded.  "Only  with  a  field  of  seven, 
like  there  will  be  in  this  race,  there's  always  the 
chance  of  something  going  wrong.  Chief  ain't  wise 
to  starts,  nor  to  running  in  company." 

"You  catch  'um  good  start,"  Paul  Sam  advised. 

"You're  a  wise  Injun,"  Dorgan  told  him.  "I'll 
try  to  be  somewhere's  on  the  line — or  in  front  of  it. 
Still,  I  ain't  quite  burglar-proof." 

At  the  fair  Angus  had  a  number  of  exhibits  of 
ranch  produce,  cattle,  and  his  team  of  young  drivers. 
The  night  before  the  race  he  had  been  arranging  his 
exhibits.  This  done  he  had  supper,  strolled  around 
for  an  hour,  and  then  returned  to  the  National  House, 
which  was  the  leading  hotel,  in  search  of  a  man  to 
whom  he  hoped  to  sell  a  few  head  of  cattle.  He  got 
the  number  of  his  prospective  customer's  room,  but 
apparently  he  had  been  misinformed,  for  the  room 
held  a  poker  game  in  full  blast,  the  players  being 
Gavin  and  Gerald  French,  two  somewhat  hard-faced 
strangers,  and  a  young  fellow  about  his  own  age 
whom  he  set  down  as  an  Englishman. 

The  French  boys  nodded  a  greeting. 

99 


ioo       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Hold  on  a  minute,"  said  Gerald  as  Angus  would 
have  withdrawn.  "I  want  to  see  you." 

So  Angus  remained,  and  standing  behind  Gerald 
watched  the  play. 

One  of  the  strangers  dealt.  On  the  draw  Gerald 
held  a  full  house;  and  yet  he  dropped  out,  as  did 
Gavin.  The  Englishman  who  stayed  lost  most  of  his 
remaining  stack.  But  the  winning  stranger  did  not 
seem  elated.  He  scowled  at  the  pot  as  he  took  it  in. 

Wondering  what  intuition  had  bade  Gerald  lay 
down  a  full — for  the  pot  had  been  won  by  fours — 
Angus  continued  to  watch  the  game.  The  deal  came 
to  Gerald,  who  riffled  the  cards. 

"Time  we  had  a  drink,"  said  he  and  rising 
brushed  past  Angus  to  touch  a  wall  button.  Reseating 
himself  he  began  to  deal. 

One  of  the  strangers  opened.  Gerald,  as  Angus 
could  see,  had  nothing.  Nevertheless  he  stayed, 
drawing  three  cards.  Everybody  stayed.  The  bet- 
ting was  brisk,  and  the  pile  of  chips  in  the  center 
grew.  Gerald  was  the  first  to  drop  out.  One  of  the 
strangers  and  the  Englishman  followed  suit.  Thus 
it  was  between  the  remaining  stranger  and  Gavin. 
They  proceeded  to  raise  each  other. 

"If  the  limit  was  something  worth  while,"  said  the 
stranger,  "I  could  get  proper  action  on  this  hand." 

"It's  high  enough  for  these  ranchers,"  the  other 
stranger  observed.  "They  don't  like  a  hard  game." 

"What  would  you  like?"  Gavin  queried. 

"If  you're  game  to  lift  it,  you  can  come  after  a 
hundred." 

Gavin,  reaching  into  his  pocket,  brought  forth  a 
sheaf  of  currency  from  which  he  stripped  two  bills. 

"And  a  hundred,"  he  said. 


BEFORE  THE  RACE  101 

The  stranger's  breath  sucked  hard  through  his 
teeth.  His  companion  glanced  swiftly  and  suspi- 
ciously at  him  and  then  at  Gerald. 

"This  started  out  as  a  friendly  game,"  he  observed, 
a  note  of  warning  in  his  voice. 

"Well,  there's  his  hundred,"  the  player  said. 
"What  you  got?  Come  on — show  'em."  He  leaned 
forward. 

"All  the  bullets,"  Gavin  replied.  He  spread  four 
aces  face  up,  while  his  other  hand  reached  for  the  pot. 

The  other  stranger  leaned  forward,  also,  peering 
at  the  cards.  Suddenly  he  started  and  his  hand  shot 
toward  them.  But  Gavin's  fell  on  it,  pinning  it  to 
the  table. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do?"  he  demanded.  Be- 
neath the  coldness  of  his  tone  there  was  something 
hard  and  menacing.  The  stranger  wrenched  to  free 
his  hand.  It  remained  pinned  in  Gavin's  grasp. 

"I  want  to  see  those  cards !"  he  cried  with  an  oath. 

"Where  do  you  come  in?"  Gavin  asked.  "You 
didn't  call  me." 

"But  I  did,"  the  losing  stranger  broke  in.  "I  want 
to  see  those  cards,  and  I'm  going  to." 

"You're  looking  at  them  now,"  Gavin  pointed  out. 

Gerald  coolly  swept  up  the  cards. 

"I  dealt  them,"  he  said.  "They  look  all  right  to 
me.  Four  aces  and  a  club  seven.  Take  a  look  at 
them,  Mackay,  and  see  if  this  man  has  anything  to 
kick  at." 

Thus  appealed  to,  Angus  took  the  cards.  "I  don't 
see  anything  wrong  with  them,"  he  said. 

"You  don't,  hey?"  cried  the  loser.  "I'm  wise  to 
you  now.  You  did  it,  did  you?" 

"Did  what?"  Angus  queried. 


102      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Slipped  him  a  cold  deck!"  the  other  roared. 
"You  did  it  when  he  got  up  to  press  the  button." 

"I  did  nothing  of  the  sort!"  Angus  denied  in 
amazement. 

"You're  a  liar!"  the  other  shrilled.  "D'ye  think 
we're  going  to  be  cold-decked  by  a  bunch  of  hicks?" 
He  turned  to  Gavin.  "Come  through  with  that 
money,  or " 

"Or  what?"  Gavin  asked. 

By  way  of  bluff  or  otherwise  the  stranger  resorted 
to  the  old,  cogent  argument.  His  right  hand  dropped 
swiftly.  But  as  it  did  so  Gavin  thrust  the  table  for- 
ward violently.  The  man  went  backward,  chair  and 
all.  Gerald  pounced  on  him  like  a  leopard,  caught 
his  arm  and  twisted  a  short-barreled  gun  from  the 
clutching  fingers.  Gavin,  with  equal  quickness  and 
less  effort,  caught  and  disarmed  the  other  man,  who 
without  a  word  had  reached  for  his  gun  to  back  his 
friend. 

"Bad  actors,  you  two!"  Gerald  sneered.  "Gam- 
blers— gunmen.  Shocking!  What'll  we  do  with 
them,  Can?" 

"Let  'em  go,"  said  the  big  man  contemptuously, 
releasing  his  captive  and  flipping  the  cartridges  from 
the  gun.  "Beat  it,  you  blighters,  and  pick  out  easier 
marks  next  time." 

"You  big  crook!"  snarled  the  owner  of  the  gun, 
"I'll  get  you " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  Gavin  was  on 
him.  He  caught  him  by  the  clothes  above  his  breast, 
lifted  him  clear  and  slammed  him  back  against  the 
wall.  There  he  held  him,  pinned  with  one  hand, 
like  a  moth  in  a  show-case. 

"Get  me,  will  you?"  he  growled  hoarsely.     "If  I 


BEFORE  THE  RACE  103 

hit  you,  you  cheap  tinhorn,  you'd  never  get  me  or 
anybody  else.  Try  to  get  me,  and  I'll  break  your 
back  over  my  knee.  Like  this!" 

He  plucked  the  man  away  from  the  wall  as  if  he 
had  been  a  doll,  and  threw  him,  back  down,  across 
his  knee.  For  an  instant  he  held  him,  and  then  set 
him  on  his  feet.  The  man's  face  was  the  dead  gray 
of  asbestos  paper. 

"Git!"  Gavin  commanded.  "Don't  fool  around 
here  or  make  any  more  bluffs.  Get  out  of  town." 

When  the  two  strangers  had  gone,  Gerald  laughed 
gently.  ^ 

"This  breaks  up  our  game,  I  guess,"  he  said.  "By 
the  way — Angus  Mackay — Mr.  Chetwood." 

The  two  young  men  shook  hands.  Chetwood  was 
a  long-limbed  young  fellow  with  the  old-country  color 
fresh  in  his  cheeks,  frank  blue  eyes  with  a  baby  stare 
which  would  have  been  a  credit  to  any  ingenue,  but 
which  held  an  occasional  twinkle  quite  at  variance 
with  their  ordinary  expression.  Angus  was  inclined 
to  like  him.  Chetwood,  on  his  part,  eyed  the  lean, 
hard,  sinewy  bulk  of  Angus  with  admiration. 

"I  say,  what  was  all  the  row  about?"  he  asked 
Gerald.  "They  accused  you  of  cheating,  what?" 

"Old  game,"  said  Gerald  carelessly.  "They  went 
up  against  an  unbeatable  hand,  lost  more  than  they 
could  afford,  and  tried  to  run  a  bluff.  They  were 
both  crooks,  anyway." 

"But  if  you  knew  that,  why  the  deuce  did  you 
play  with  them?" 

"You  can't  be  too  particular  if  you  want  a  game," 
Gerald  laughed. 

"You  do  things  so  dam'  casual  out  here,"  Chet- 
wood complained  whimsically.  "Now  when  they 


io4      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

tried  to  draw  revolvers — 'guns'  you  call  them  out 
here — I  should  have  given  them  in  charge." 

"Too  much  trouble  and  no  police  force  handy," 
said  Gerald.  "But  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  that 
horse  you've  been  training  for  the  Indians,  Mackay. 
Are  you  betting  on  him?" 

"I  haven't  been  training  him,  and  I  don't  think  I'll 
bet.  The  Indians  will,  though." 

"Tell  'em  we'll  take  all  the  money  they  have,  at 
evens." 

"Even  money  against  the  field?" 

"Exactly.    You'd  better  take  a  little  yourself." 

But  Angus  refused,  principally  because  he  had  no 
money  to  lose.  They  went  down  to  the  lobby.  This 
•was  crowded.  Blake  French,  standing  on  a  chair, 
was  flourishing  a  sheaf  of  bills,  offering  even  money 
as  his  brothers  had  done.  He  had  been  drinking, 
and  his  remarks  seemed  to  be  directed  at  some  certain 
person  or  persons. 

Looking  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd,  Angus  saw 
Dorgan  and  Paul  Sam  standing  together.  The  old 
Indian,  bare-headed,  his  gray  braids  hanging  in  front 
of  either  shoulder,  wearing  a  blanket  coat,  skin-tight 
leggins  and  brand-new  moccasins,  made  an  incon- 
gruous figure.  The  two,  seeing  Angus,  made  their 
way  toward  him. 

"That  bird,"  said  Dorgan  nodding  toward  Blake, 
"is  makin'  a  cinch  offer.  Take  all  you  can  get.  The 
old  boy,  here,  was  just  waitin'  for  you  to  hold  the 
bets." 

"S'pose  you  hold  money,  me  bet  him  now,"  Paul 
Sam  confirmed. 

"Come  on,  come  on!"  Blake  vociferated  from  his 
perch.  "Put  up  a  bet  on  your — cayuse.  Here's  real 


BEFORE  THE  RACE  105 

money.    Come  and  get  itl" 

Dorgan  turned  to  face  him. 

"You're  makin'  a  whole  lot  of  noise  on  that  hand- 
ful of  chicken  feed,"  he  observed. 

"Come  and  take  it  then,"  Blake  retorted.  "They 
tell  me  you  used  to  ride  for  white  men  once." 

"Well,  that  never  gave  you  no  first  call  on  mel" 
Dorgan  shot  back. 

Somebody  laughed,  and  Blake's  temper,  always 
ugly,  flared  up. 

"Keep  a  civil  tongue  in  your  head,  you  down-and- 
outer,  or  I'll  throw  you  out!"  he  rasped. 

But  Dorgan  was  not  awed  by  the  threat,  nor  by 
the  size  of  the  man  who  made  it. 

"Your  own  tongue  ain't  workin'  none  too  smooth,'* 
he  retorted.  "Throw  me  out,  hey?  About  all  you'll 
throw  will  be  a  D.  T.  fit.  A  hunk  of  mice  bait,  that's 
about  what  you  are,  color  and  all." 

With  an  oath  Blake  leaped  from  his  chair,  sending 
it  crashing  behind  him.  Perfectly  game,  little  Dor- 
gan crouched  to  meet  the  rush,  in  an  attitude  which 
showed  a  certain  experience. 

But  Angus,  cursing  the  luck  which  seemed  to  lead 
him  athwart  Blake,  stepped  between  them. 

"Hold  on,  now,"  he  said.     "You  mustn't " 

"Get  out  of  my  way!"  Blake  roared. 

"Now  wait!"  Angus  insisted  pacifically.  "It 
wouldn't " 

But  Blake  struck  at  him.  Angus  dodged  and 
clinched.  But  as  he  began  to  shove  Blake  back 
Gavin's  great  arms  were  thrust  between  them. 

"Let  go,  Mackay,"  he  said.  "Quit  it!"  he  com- 
manded Blake. 

"I'll  show  that  runt  he  can't  insult  me !"  the  latter, 


io6      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

frothed.     "Yes,  and  Mackay,  too.     Turn  me  loose, 
Can " 

"You  can't  beat  up  their  jockey  before  the  race," 
his  brother  told  him.  "Too  raw.  Mackay?  Mac- 
kay'd  make  a  mess  of  you.  Quit  it,  I  tell  you." 

"I'll "    Blake   began.      But    Gavin    suddenly 

cursed  him. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  handle  you?"  he  demanded. 
In  his  voice  came  the  hoarse,  growling  note  it  had 
held  when  he  had  spoken  to  the  man  pinned  against 
the  wall.  His  hand  clamped  his  brother's  wrist  and 
his  eyes  blazed.  Half  drunk  as  he  was,  Blake  appar- 
ently recognized  these  danger  signals. 

"Let  go,"  he  said.     "I  won't  start  anything." 

His  brother  eyed  him  for  a  moment  and  turned  to 
Paul  Sam. 

"How  much  do  you  want  to  bet?" 

For  answer  the  Indian  pulled  forth  a  huge  roll  of 
bills  bound  by  a  buckskin  thong.  They  represented 
sales  of  steers,  cayuses,  skins  of  marten,  beaver,  bear 
and  lynx,  bounties  on  coyotes  and  mountain  lion. 

"Bet  um  all !"  he  announced  succinctly. 
."See  what  he's  got,"  Gavin  said  to  Angus,  "and) 
we'll  cover  it." 

Angus  sorted  out  the  currency.  It  was  in  bills  of 
various  denominations  and  various  stages  of  dilapi- 
dation. The  amount  totaled  a  little  over  twelve 
hundred  dollars. 

"We'll  put  up  a  check,"  said  Gerald. 

But  when  this  was  explained  to  Paul  Sam,  he  inter- 
posed a  decided  negative.  He  himself  was  putting 
up  real,  tangible  money,  that  could  be  handled  and 
counted.  Similar  money  must  be  put  up  against  it. 
And  when  this  was  procured,  with  considerable  diffi- 


BEFORE  THE  RACE  107 

culty  at  that  time  of  night,  he  would  not  hear  of  it 
being  put  in  the  hotel  safe,  but  insisted  that  Angus 
should  hold  it  literally. 

"Ha-a-lo  put  um  in  skookum  box,"  he  declared 
positively.  "Me  know  you.  S'pose  you  keep  money, 
s'pose  me  win,  me  catch  um  sure.  S'pose  him  put 
in  skookum  box,  mebbe  so  me  no  catch  um.  You  keep 
um  money." 

Reluctantly,  Angus  accepted  its  custody,  but  pri- 
vately he  made  up  his  mind  to  deposit  it  in  the  safe 
as  soon  as  the  old  Indian  had  gone.  Soon  after, 
Chetwood  drew  him  aside. 

"I've  a  fancy  to  have  a  little  on  the  old  buster's 
horse,"  he  announced.  "What  do  you  say?" 

"I  don't  say  anything;  it's  your  money." 

"Quite  so.  But  what  sort  of  a  run  do  you  think 
I'll  get  for  it?" 

"The  best  the  horse  has  in  him,  whatever  that  is." 

"Then  I've  a  notion  to  have  a  go  at  it." 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  horses?" 

"Not  a  thing,"  Chetwood  replied  cheerfully.  "In 
the  expressive  language  of  the  country,  I'm  playing 
a  hunch.  That  old  Indian  takes  my  eye,  rather." 

"He's  foxy  enough.  But  the  Indians  have  entered 
a  horse  every  year,  and  never  won  yet." 

"But  a  chap  can't  lose  all  the  time,"  Chetwood 
observed.  "And  then  the  Frenches  are  offering  even 
money  against  the  field.  No  end  sporting  of  'em,  but 
risky.  That  little  ex-jockey  knows  his  business?" 

"I  think  so.  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  have  a  talk 
with  him  and  see  the  horse.  He's  going  out  now, 
and  we'll  go  with  him,  if  you  care  to." 

"Thanks,"  Chetwood  acknowledged.  "That's 
very  decent  of  you,  Mackay.  I'd  like  it  Eery  much." 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  HOLD-UP 

THE  road  to  the  track,  which  was  nearly  a  mile 
beyond  the  town,  was  lonely  and  dark.    Most  of 
the  way  it  ran  through  a  wooded  flat,  and  the 
tree  shadows  overlay  it  with  denser  gloom.  But  at  last 
they  emerged  from  the  trees  upon  the  natural  prairie 
which  held  track  and  fair  grounds.     Along  one  side 
was  a  row  of  sheds,  and  here  and  there  a  lantern 
gleamed.     Toward  one  of  these  lights  Dorgan  led 
them. 

Dave  Rennie,  reading  beside  a  lantern,  nodded 
silently  and,  introduced  to  Chetwood,  regarded  him 
with  disfavor,  as  a  remittance  man,  one  of  the  bal- 
loon-pants brigade. 

"Everything  all  right,  Davy?"  Dorgan  asked. 

"Quiet  now.  There  was  a  row  down  among  the 
sheds  a  while  ago.  A  pair  of  drunks  mixed  it,  till 
we  pulled  'em  apart." 

Dorgan  picked  up  the  lantern  and  illuminated  a 
stall  at  the  rear.  Chief  seemed  uneasy,  sidling  away 
from  the  light,  snorting  and  shaking  his  head.  Chet- 
wood moved  with  him,  inspecting  him  closely. 

"I  should  say  that  he  has  plenty  of  staying  power," 
he  observed.  "At  the  distance  I'd  back  him  rather 
than  any  weedy,  greyhound  stock." 

"And  you'd  be  a  good  judge,"  Dorgan  agreed, 
regarding  Chetwood  with  more  respect.  Chief  blew 
noisily,  shaking  his  head  and  rubbing  his  nose  against 
the  feed-box.  "How  long's  he  been  actin'  that  way, 
Dave?" 

•108 


A  HOLD-UP  109 

"Maybe  an  hour.  I  thought  it  might  be  a  fly  or  a 
bit  of  foxtail  in  his  feed." 

"Not  a  bit  of  foxtail  in  his  hay  or  beddin'.  Might 
be  a  fly.  Hold  the  lantern  a  minute." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  Chief's  muzzle,  and  the 
horse  thrust  against  his  body,  twisting  and  shaking 
his  head.  Dorgan  examined  his  ears. 

"Seems  all  right.    What's  worryin'  you,  old  boy?" 

The  horse  nosed  him  again,  and  exhaled  a  deep 
breath.  Chetwood  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"How  was  his  wind  to-day  when  you  exercised 
him?" 

"Wind?    Good.    Why?" 

"No  cold — no  stoppage  of  the  nostrils?" 

"No.    What  you  gettin'  at?" 

"Listen  to  his  breathing.  There's  something  about 
it — not  clear — a  little,  straining  wheeze " 

Eyes  narrowing,  vibrant  with  quick  suspicion,  Dor- 
gan took  the  horse's  head  on  his  shoulder  and  leaned 
his  ear  to  the  nostrils,  listening  intently.  Suddenly 
he  swore,  a  single,  tremendous  expletive,  deep  with 
venom,  turning  on  Rennie. 

"Did  you  go  to  see  that  fight  you  was  speakin'  of?" 

"Sure.     But  I  wasn't  away  five  minutes." 

"Was  the  horse  uneasy  before  that?" 

"I  didn't  notice  it  till  I  come  back,"  Rennie  ad- 
mitted, and  Dorgan  swore  again. 

"They  got  to  us  somehow.  Wait  now.  Hold  still, 
Chief.  So — o,  lad!  Quiet,  boy!"  Gently  he  laid 

his  face  against  the  muzzle.  "By ,  it's  sponges !" 

he  exclaimed  suddenly. 

"Sponges?"  Angus  repeated,  puzzled. 

"Sure — sponges!  One  of  the  bloody,  dirtiest, 
meanest,  surest-fire  tricks  in  the  whole  box.  A  little, 


no      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

soft  sponge  shot  up  each  nostril.  A  horse  can't  blow 
'em  out.  He  can  breathe  all  right  when  he's  quiet, 
but  when  he  starts  to  run  he  can't  get  wind  enough 
through  'em  to  feed  his  lungs,  and  they  choke  him 
off.  It  don't  take  a  minute  to  work  the  trick  on  a 
quiet  horse.  It  can  be  put  over  five  minutes  or  a  day 
before  a  race.  A  rider  can  do  his  best  and  get  no 
speed.  A  crooked  owner  can  fix  his  own  horse  and 
tell  his  boy  to  ride  to  win.  That's  what  somebody's 
put  over  on  us,  and  I'll  gamble  on  it.  Dave,  fetch  me 
my  little  black  bag." 

The  bag  contained  a  kit  of  veterinary  instruments, 
and  from  them  Dorgan  selected  a  pair  of  long, 
slender  forceps.  But  Chief  objected  and  had  to  be 
thrown.  Angus  sat  on  his  head  while  Dorgan 
worked.  In  the  end  he  got  the  sponges,  and  Chief 
released,  struggled  up  snorting,  but  apparently  re- 
lieved and  glad  to  be  able  to  fill  his  lungs  full  once 
more. 

"And  a  devil  of  a  note  a  night  before  a  race!" 
Dorgan  commented.  "Some  horses  it  would  put 
clean  up  in  the  air.  But  I'll  bet  Chief  will  fix  this 
French  bunch  now,  in  spite  of  their  dirty  work." 

"What  makes  you  think  they  did  it?" 

"Ain't  they  givin'  even  money  against  the  field? 
That  means  they  think  they  got  us  fixed.  That  big 
stiff  that  tried  to  beat  me  up  to-night  would  have 
fixed  me  if  he  could.  They  framed  that  fight  to  get 
Dave  away  from  here.  Well,  there's  no  use  makin' 
a  roar,  because  we  got  nothin'  on  them.  We're  lucky 
to  get  wise."  He  nodded  to  Chetwood.  "I  dunno's 
we  would  if  it  hadn't  been  for  you.  I  didn't  think 
you  knew  a  thing  about  the  game,  but  I  guess  you  do." 

"Even  if  I  am  a  pilgrim?"  Chetwood  laughed. 


A  HOLD-UP  in 

"But  you  know  we  have  horses  and  a  few  races  in 
England." 

"The  smoothest  crook  I  ever  come  across  in  the 
racin'  game  was  an  Englishman,"  Dorgan  admitted 
generously. 

Chetwood  laughed  at  this  ambiguous  testimonial, 
and  Angus  liked  him  the  better  for  it.  Leaving 
Dorgan  and  Rennie  to  look  after  the  horse,  they  took 
their  townward  way.  The  darkness  seemed  more 
intense.  They  stumbled  on  the  deeply-rutted  road. 

"We  should  have  borrowed  a  lantern,"  Chetwood 
observed.  "The  bally  trees  make  it  black  as  the 
devil.  I  think — Look  out,  Mackay!  'Ware  foot- 
pads!" 

As  he  spoke  a  dry  stick  cracked  sharply.  Angus 
whirled  to  his  right.  Three  black  figures  were  almost 
on  top  of  them.  He  had  no  time  to  dodge  or  brace 
himself.  An  arm  swung  around  his  neck,  and  he 
got  his  chin  down  just  in  time.  He  grasped  the  arm, 
tore  it  down  across  his  shoulder,  and  would  no  doubt 
have  broken  it  with  the  next  wrench;  but  just  then 
something  descended  on  his  head,  and  he  went  down 
unconscious  in  the  dust  of  the  trail. 

He  came  back  to  the  world  of  affairs  with  a  ripple 
of  artistic  English  swearing  in  his  ears,  and  sat  up. 

"That  you,  Chetwood?"  he  asked. 

"Right-o,  old  chap!"  Chetwood  replied,  in  tones 
of  relief.  "You've  been  in  dreamland  so  long  I  was 
afraid  the  blighters  had  jolly  well  bashed  in  your 
coco." 

"What  happened?"  Angus  demanded. 

"Well,  it's  a  bit  thick  to  me,"  the  Englishman  ad- 
mitted. "There  were  four  of  the  beggars,  and  three 
of  them  went  for  you  while  the  other  gave  me  all 


ii2      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

I  could  do.  They  floored  you,  and  then  rapped  me 
on  the  head  with  a  sandbag,  I  should  say."  He  felt 
his  cranium  tenderly.  "Laid  us  both  out  side  by  side 
like  a  pair  of  blinking  babes  in  the  wood.  I  came 
around  first,  and  that's  some  minutes  ago.  You're 
sure  you're  quite  all  right,  old  man?" 

But  struck  by  a  sudden,  horrible  suspicion,  Angus 
put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  gasped. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"Matter  enough,"  he  replied.  "They  have  rustled 
all  the  money  I  was  holding  for  Paul  Sam  and  the 
French  boys !" 

"My  aunt!"  Chetwood  ejaculated.  "We  must 
have  been  followed." 

Angus  nodded  gloomily,  cursing  his  own  folly. 
Why  had  he  been  such  a  fool  to  carry  nearly  twenty- 
four  hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket?  He  had  fully 
intended  to  deposit  it  in  the  safe,  but  had  neglected 
to  do  so.  Now  it  was  gone,  and  naturally  he  was 
responsible. 

"I  guess  we  were,"  he  agreed.  "You  didn't  recog- 
nize any  of  them,  of  course?" 

"No.  Too  dark.  I  say,  Mackay,  this  is  beastly 
rotten  luck." 

"Worse  than  that  for  me.  I'll  have  to  make 
good." 

"Yes,  'fraid  you  will.  I  say — you'll  pardon  me, 
I'm  sure — but  in  the  expressive  idiom  of  the  country, 
will  it  throw  a  crimp  into  you  to  do  it?" 

"Will  it?"  Angus  replied  grimly.  "I  have  no 
more  than  three  hundred  dollars  in  the  bank,  and  it 
keeps  me  scratching  gravel  with  both  feet  to  make 
ends  meet  on  the  ranch  and  pay  what  I  have  to  pay. 
It  puts  me  in  a  devil  of  a  hole,  if  you  want  to  know." 


A  HOLD-UP  113 

"Hard  lines!"  Chetwood  sympathized.  "In  the 
breezy  phraseology  of  the  country,  it's  sure  hell.  But 
buck  up,  old  chap!  Let  me  be  your  banker." 

"You  mean  you'll  lend  me  the  money?"  Angus 
exclaimed. 

"Like  a  shot." 

"Are  you  that  strong?" 

"Strong?"  Chetwood  queried. 

"I  mean  that  well  fixed  financially." 

"Another  delightful  idiom!"  Chetwood  laughed. 
"Must  remember  it.  Well,  I  have  some  money  to 
invest,  and  this  looks  like  my  chance." 

"It  looks  to  me  like  a  mighty  poor  investment," 
Angus  told  him.  "I  couldn't  pay  you  for  the  Lord 
knows  how  long." 

"Shouldn't  expect  you  to." 

"No,  I  can't  do  it,"  Angus  decided,  "though  it's 
mighty  white  of  you,  and  I  am  just  as  much  obliged. 
I'll  get  it  from  somebody  who  is  in  the  loaning 
business." 

"Back  your  paper,  if  you  like." 

"Nor  that  either.     I  will  kill  my  own  snakes." 

"Obstinate  beggar  1"  Chetwood  commented. 
"Highland  blood,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing."  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment.  "By  George,  I've  got  it!" 
he  exclaimed.  "I  know  how  we'll  turn  the  corner. 
Simplest  thing  in  the  world.  I'll  bet  the  amount 
you've  lost,  we  win  it,  and  there  we  are.  Rippin' 
idea,  what!" 

"Suppose  we  don't  win?" 

"Don't  be  a  bally  pessimist.  It's  more  than  a 
sportin'  chance;  it's  a  sound  declaration.  I'll  have 
a  go  at  it." 

Seeing  that  he  was  thoroughly  in  earnest,  Angus 


ii4      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

endeavored  to  dissuade  him,  and  at  last  apparently 
succeeded. 

"But  we'll  find  some  way  out,"  he  said.  "Never 
say  die.  No  surrender.  Yard-arm  to  yard-arm,  and 
keep  the  ruddy  flag  flying,  Mackay." 

But  Angus  slept  little  that  night.  The  problem 
of  raising  the  money  worried  him.  He  thought  he 
could  get  it  from  Mr.  Braden,  but  he  was  not  sure. 
And  what  worried  him  just  as  much  was  that  event- 
ually it  must  come  out  of  the  ranch.  His  carelessness 
had  saddled  it  with  a  fresh  load  of  debt.  Then  there 
was  Jean.  Whatever  happened,  her  education  must 
not  be  interrupted,  her  way  must  be  paid.  He  would 
see  to  that  if  he  had  to  sell  every  head  of  stock  on  the 
range.  The  first  pale  dawn  was  rousing  the  birds 
to  sleepy  twitterings  when  he  finally  forgot  his  prob- 
lems in  troubled  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  RACE 

MR.  BRADEN  regarded  Angus  Mackay  se- 
verely across  his  desk.  "Tut,  tut,  tut!"  he 
said.  "A  very  bad  business,  indeed.  Bad 
company.  Evil  communications,  horse  racing,  gam- 
bling. Very  bad!" 

"But  all  I  did  was  to  hold  the  stakes,"  Angus  pro- 
tested. 

"That  was  just  what  you  didn't  do,"  Mr.  Braden 
pointed  out.  "It  is  a  large  sum." 

"I  know  that,  but  I  have  to  have  it.  I  am  good 
for  the  money.  Chetwood  offered  to  lend  it  to  me  or 
endorse  my  note,  but " 

"Chetwood,  hey?"  said  Mr.  Braden  with  sudden 
interest.  "Why  should  he  do  that?" 

"No  reason  at  all.  That's  why  I  wouldn't  let 
him." 

"Do  you  know  what  he  is  going  to  do  in  this 
country?" 

"He  spoke  of  ranching." 

"Ha!"  said  Mr.  Braden.  "Has  he  bought  any 
land  yet?" 

"I  don't  think  so." 

"He  should  be  careful,"  said  Mr.  Braden.  "He 
should  go  to  some  reliable  person.  Too  many  irre- 
sponsible dealers.  He  might  get — er — stung.  I 
have  some  very  attractive  propositions.  Did  he  men- 
tion any  amount  that  he  was  prepared  to  invest?" 

"No.    He's  going  to  look  around  before  he  buys." 

"Glad  to  show  him  around,"  said  Mr.  Braden 


n6      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

heartily.  "Bring  him  to  me,  Angus,  and  he  won't 
regret  it.  Neither — er — neither  will  you." 

"How  about  lending  me  this  money?"  Angus 
asked. 

"Oh — ah — yes,  the  money.  H'm.  Well,  under 
the  circumstances  I  will  advance  it  on  your  note.  Not 

business,  but  to  help  you  out Well,  don't  forget 

about  Chetwood.  Bring  him  in.  He  might  get  into 
wrong  hands,  you  know.  Bring  him  in,  my  boy,  and 
you  won't  regret  it." 

With  the  settlement  of  the  money  question  Angus 
was  greatly  relieved.  He  was  saddled  with  an  addi- 
tional debt,  but  at  least  he  was  in  a  position  to  pay  the 
winner,  which  as  he  looked  at  it  was  the  main  thing. 

With  Jean  he  went  out  to  the  track  early  in  the 
afternoon.  Here  and  there  in  the  crowd  he  noted 
the  tall  figures  of  the  French  brothers.  Apparently, 
they  were  still  taking  all  the  money  they  could  get. 
On  their  way  to  the  stand  to  secure  seats,  they  came 
upon  Chetwood,  who  was  eying  the  motley  crowd 
whose  costumes  ranged  from  blankets  to  Bond  Street 
coats,  with  pure  delight.  But  being  introduced  to 
Jean,  the  young  Englishman  lost  all  interest  in  the 
crowd,  and  accompanied  them.  Kathleen  French 
waved  greeting  to  them,  and  they  found  seats  beside 
her.  It  appeared  that  she  had  met  Chetwood. 

"Well,  Angus,  do  you  want  any  Flambeau  money?" 
she  laughed. 

"I  wouldn't  bet  much,  if  I  were  you,"  he  advised 
her  seriously. 

"I  will  bet  every  dollar  I  can.  That's  what  the 
boys  are  doing,  and  they're  good  judges  of  a  horse." 

"I  think  Dorgan  is  a  better  one." 

"What  does  he  know  about  Flambeau  ?"  she  asked 


THE  RACE  117 

"He  seems  to  be  satisfied  with  knowing  Chief." 

A  little  line  came  between  Kathleen's  eyes,  but  she 
shook  her  head.  "Flambeau  carries  all  the  money 
we  can  get  up." 

Angus  having  given  her  his  advice  said  no  more, 
and  went  to  have  a  final  look  at  Chief. 

"I've  had  Dave  bet  my  roll  for  me,"  Dorgan  told 
him.  "I  ain't  a  regular  rider  no  more,  and  I  need 
the  money.  Barring  accidents,  Chief  wins  handy." 

"The  Frenches  are  just  as  sure  of  Flambeau." 

"Yeh,"  Dorgan  replied  calmly.  "I  just  seen  the 
boy  burglar  that's  ridin'  for  'em.  There's  tracks  he 
couldn't  work  on,  but  I  ain't  makin'  no  kick.  If  he 
puts  anything  over  on  me,  it'll  be  new  stuff.  But  I 
guess  they  figure  they  got  the  race  won  in  the  stable." 

When  Flambeau  came  on  the  track,  Angus  admit- 
ted to  himself  that  he  justified  Kathleen's  confidence. 
Knowing  quite  well  what  he  had  to  do,  the  horse  was 
eager.  Up  on  his  withers  crouched  a  hard-faced  boy 
in  maroon  and  silver,  who  eyed  the  other  horses  and 
riders  with  cool  contempt. 

But  Chief  was  being  led  through  the  gate,  and  up 
on  his  back  flashed  Dorgan's  old  black-and-yellow 
silk.  The  big  horse  stepped  forward,  looking  at 
track  and  crowd  with  surprised  and  inquiring  but 
quite  calm  eyes.  Dorgan  patted  his  neck  and  spoke 
to  him,  and  he  came  past  the  stand  in  the  long,  sing- 
ing, stretching  canter  which  was  deceptive  by  its 
very  ease.  Angus  looked  at  Kathleen. 

"He's  a  grand  horse!"  she  admitted,  and  once 
more  the  little  line  lay  between  her  eyes. 

It  became  evident  at  the  start  that  it  was  a  fight 
between  Dorgan  and  French's  boy.  Neither  would 
concede  the  slightest  advantage.  Both  were  warned. 


n8      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

As  they  wheeled  back,  after  half  a  dozen  abortive 
starts,  French's  boy  was  spitting  insults  from  the 
corner  of  his  mouth,  and  old  Dorgan  was  grinning 
at  him.  Side  by  side,  watching  each  other  like  boxers, 
they  wheeled  and  came  down  on  the  line.  Crouched, 
arms  extended,  the  harried  starter  caught  the  bunch 
fair  at  last. 

"G'wan!"  he  yelled  as  his  flag  swept.  "G'wan 
outa  here !"  And  the  dust  of  the  flurrying  hoofs  hid 
him. 

At  the  turn  Flambeau  was  running  third,  and 
slightly  behind  and  a  little  wide  and  thus  out  of  a 
possible  danger  zone,  was  the  black  and  yellow.  But 
in  the  stretch  on  the  first  round  Flambeau  had  drawn 
level  with  the  leading  horse.  As  they  swept  past  the 
stand,  Chief,  still  behind  and  well  out,  was  running 
like  a  machine.  Dorgan  turned  his  face,  twisted 
in  a  grin,  up  to  the  stand. 

"By  George,  the  old  boy  thinks  he  has  the  race  on 
toast!"  Chetwood  exclaimed. 

"He  can't  catch  Flambeau  now!"  Kathleen  as- 
serted. 

But  to  Angus  came  the  recollection  of  a  piece  of 
the  old  jockey's  wisdom. 

"Not  every  jock  that  knows  pace  is  a  good  jock," 
he  had  said;  "but  no  jock  is  a  good  jock  that  don't. 
If  you  know  pace  and  know  you're  makin'  the  time, 
you  don't  need  to  worry.  Your  leaders  will  come 
back  to  you.  I  never  was  no  star  rider,  but  pace  is 
one  thing  I  do  know." 

At  the  turn  it  was  plainly  a  fight  between  the  two 
horses.  Angus  saw  French's  boy  turn  his  head,  and 
then  sit  down  to  ride.  Dorgan  was  motionless,  lying 
flat,  but  the  gap  began  to  close.  Angus  glanced  at 


THE  RACE  119 

Kathleen.  She  was  leaning  forward,  tense,  eager, 
her  lips  drawn  straight,  the  color  pinched  from  them. 
When  he  looked  at  the  horses  again  Chief's  head 
was  lapping  Flambeau.  French's  boy  went  to  his 
bat.  It  rose  and  fell.  At  the  same  moment  Dorgan 
seemed  to  sink  into  and  become  part  of  his  horse's 
neck. 

For  an  instant  they  seemed  to  be  running  together. 
Then  steadily,  surely,  inch  by  inch  the  black  and  yel- 
low crept  past  the  maroon  and  silver,  and  the  chestnut 
head  appeared  in  front  of  the  bay.  Into  the  stretch 
they  came,  French's  boy  riding  it  out  and  fighting  it 
out  to  the  last  inch  with  Flambeau  game  to  the  core 
under  terrific  punishment.  But  as  they  thundered 
past  the  stand  Dorgan,  his  ear  hugging  Chief's  neck, 
was  looking  back  beneath  his  arm,  and  there  was  clear 
daylight  between  the  horses. 

Once  more  Angus  glanced  at  Kathleen.  She  smiled 
as  she  met  his  eye. 

"Well,  you  were  right,"  she  said. 

"I  hope  you  didn't  lose  much." 

"We — I  lost — plenty,  thanks.  Anyway,  Fm  proud 
of  Flambeau.  He  was  outrun,  but  he  ran  game  to  the 
last  foot." 

With  Chetwood,  Angus  went  to  see  Dorgan.  On 
the  way  they  came  upon  Gavin  and  Gerald  French. 
The  latter  was  tearing  up  a  bunch  of  tickets.  At 
sight  of  them  he  laughed,  tossing  the  fragments  aloft. 

"Good  paper — once,"  he  observed.  "Give  you  a 
check  to-night,  Chetwood." 

"Give  you  mine,  too,"  said  Gavin,  lighting  his 
pipe.  "Good  race,  wasn't  it?" 

"Rippin',"  Chetwood  agreed.  "No  hurry  about 
settlements,  you  know." 


i2o      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Oh,  we  may  as  well  clean  up,"  Gerald  returned 
carelessly.  "See  you  later." 

"So  you  did  bet,"  Angus  observed  to  his  companion 
as  they  moved  on. 

"I  told  you  it  was  a  sound  scheme  to  get  back  what 
you  lost.  I  was  jolly  right,  too.  The  money  is  quite 
at  your  service  if  you  need  it." 

"I've  raised  the  money,  thanks  all  the  same." 

"In  the  quaint  idiom  of  the  country,  far  be  it  from 
me  to  horn  in,  but  if  I'm  not  impertinent,  how  did 
you  do  it?" 

"Borrowed  it  on  my  note." 

"Oh,  my  sacred  aunt!"  Chetwood  groaned.  "Now 
listen  to  reason,  old  chap.  Here's  this  money,  just 
the  same  as  if  I'd  found  what  you  lost.  Take  it 
and " 

"Cut  it  out!"  Angus  interrupted.     "That  doesn't 

go." 

"What  an  obstinate  beggar  you  are !"  Chetwood 
observed  in  disappointment.  "Well,  we'll  say  no 
more  about  it,  then.  Do  you  know,  I  fancy  the 
Frenches  have  come  rather  a  cropper  to-day.  Of 
course,  I  don't  know  anything  of  their  finances,  but 
they  were  doing  some  dashed  heavy  betting.  I 
fancied  Miss  French  was  hard  hit." 

"So  did  I,"  Angus  agreed. 

"Stood  up  to  it  like  a  major,"  Chetwood  nodded. 
"Like  to  see  'em  game." 

They  found  Dorgan  and  Rennie  rubbing  and 
sponging  the  big  horse,  fussing  over  him  like  two 
hens  with  one  chick. 

"Well,  I  win  "me  a  whole  barrel  of  kale,"  Dorgan 
chuckled.  "I'll  bet  them  Frenches  will  find  her  a 
hard  winter  unless  they're  well  fixed."  He  eyed  the 


THE  RACE  121 

big  chestnut  contemplatively  for  a  moment.  "And 
yet,  mind  you,  he  ain't  a  racin'  horse,"  he  said,  "and 
don't  you  never  fool  yourself  that  he  is.  He  can 
run  now,  and  he'll  always  run  as  long  as  an  eight-day 
clock,  because  he's  got  the  works.  But  he's  a  weight 
carrier,  that's  what  he  is.  He's  a  white  man's  horse, 
and  I  hate  like  poison  to  see  him  go  back  to  them 
Lo's.  Why  don't  you  buy  him?  He'd  carry  your 
weight,  and  you'd  be  ridin'  a  real  horse." 

"I  haven't  the  money,"  Angus  replied  regretfully, 
for  in  his  heart  he  had  coveted  Chief  from  the  time 
he  had  first  mounted  him. 

Later,  when  he  had  handed  over  his  winnings  to 
Paul  Sam,  Angus  drove  homeward  with  Jean.  The 
day  had  been  fine,  but  in  the  west  a  blue-black  sky, 
tinged  with  copper,  bore  promise  of  storm.  He 
sent  the  team  along  at  a  lively  clip  to  reach  home 
before  it  should  break. 

He  reflected  that  it  had  been  a  most  expensive  race 
for  him.  He  did  not  know  when  he  would  be  able  to 
repay  the  money  he  had  borrowed.  But  his  crops 
were  looking  well,  and  his  grain  was  almost  ready  to 
cut.  His  hay  was  already  in.  This  year  he  could 
pay  interest  on  Braden's  mortgage.  Jean  would  re- 
quire more  money.  She  was  going  to  take  a  special, 
qualifying  course,  after  which  she  would  be  able  to 
teach.  But  he  rather  hoped  she  would  not.  Un- 
doubtedly, she  livened  up  the  ranch. 

Recently  Jean  had  developed.  She  had  grown  not 
only  physically  but  mentally.  She  was,  Angus  real' 
ized,  a  young  woman.  He  had  heard  Chetwood  ask 
permission  to  call  at  the  ranch. 

"How  do  you  like  this  Chetwood?"  he  asked. 
"Where  did  you  meet  him?"  Miss  Jean  countered. 


122      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"With  a  couple  of  the  French  boys." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Jean,  who  was  under  no  delu- 
sions as  to  the  boys  aforesaid,  "then  he's  apt  to  need 
his  remittances." 

"He  seems  a  decent  chap,"  her  brother  observed. 

"He  may  be,"  Miss  Jean  returned  nonchalantly, 
"but  I'm  not  strong  for  these  remittance  men." 

But  the  black  cloud  was  mounting  higher  and 
higher.  A  gust  of  cold  wind  struck  their  faces.  The 
dust  of  the  trail  rose  in  clouds,  and  behind  it  they 
heard  the  roar  of  the  wind.  Beyond  that  again,  as 
they  topped  a  rise  and  obtained  a  view,  a  gray  veil, 
dense,  opaque,  seemed  to  have  been  let  down. 

"I'm  afraid  we  can't  make  the  ranch  without  a 
wetting,"  Angus  said. 

"And  my  best  duds,  too!"  Jean  groaned. 

A  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead  there  was  the  wreck  of 
an  abandoned  shack  which  might  suffice  to  keep  Jean 
dry,  and  Angus  sent  his  team  into  their  collars;  but 
they  had  not  covered  half  the  distance  when  with  a 
hissing  rush  the  gray  barrier  was  upon  them.  And 
it  was  not  rain,  but  hail ! 

The  stones  varied  in  size  from  that  of  buckshot 
to  robin's  eggs.  Under  the  bombardment  the  dust 
puffed  from  the  trail.  The  horses  leaped  and  swerved 
at  the  pelting  punishment,  refusing  to  face  it. 

"Throw  the  lap-robe  over  your  head,"  Angus  told 
Jean,  and  thereafter  was  occupied  exclusively  with 
his  team. 

The  colts  swung  around,  cramping  the  wheel, 
almost  upsetting  the  rig.  Angus  avoided  a  capsize 
by  a  liberal  use  of  the  whip,  but  with  the  punishment 
and  the  sting  and  batter  of  the  icy  pellets  the  animals 
were  frantic.  They  began  to  run. 


THE  RACE  123 

Not  being  able  to  help  it,  Angus  let  them  go,  having 
confidence  in  his  harness  and  rig.  Just  there  the 
road  was  good,  without  steep  grades  or  sharp  turns. 
He  let  them  run  for  half  a  mile  under  a  steady  pull, 
and  then  after  reminding  them  of  their  duty  by  the 
whip,  he  began  to  saw  them  down.  Inside  a  few 
hundred  yards  he  had  them  under  control,  and  pulled 
them,  quivering  and  all  a-jump,  under  the  shelter  of 
two  giant,  bushy  firs. 

There  Jean,  peeping  from  beneath  the  robe,  saw 
her  brother  by  the  colts'  heads. 

"Thanks  for  the  ride!"  she  observed  with  mild 
sarcasm.  Angus  stiffened  arm  and  body  against  a 
sudden  lunge. 

"Stand  still,  you!"  he  commanded,  "or  I'll  club 
you  till  you'll  be  glad  to!"  And  to  Jean:  "They 
wouldn't  face  it,  and  I  don't  blame  them.  I  thought 
we  were  over  once." 

"Some  hail!"  Jean  commented.  "I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  it." 

But  already  the  storm  was  passing.  Came  a  tail- 
end  spatter  of  rain,  and  the  sky  began  to  clear.  But 
as  he  wheeled  his  team  out  from  shelter  Angus'  face 
was  very  grave,  and  a  sudden  thought  struck  his 
sister. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  her  brown  eyes  opening 
wide,  "do  you  suppose  that  hail  struck  the  ranch?" 

"I  don't  know,"  he  replied,  "but  if  it  did,  there 
won't  be  any  threshing  this  year.  It  was  bad." 

As  they  drove  on  there  was  evidence  of  that.  The 
grass  was  beaten  flat,  bushes  were  stripped  of  leaves. 
They  passed  the  body  of  a  young  grouse  which, 
caught  in  the  open  and  confused,  had  been  pelted  to 
death.  It  was  without  doubt  very  bad  hail. 


i24      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

When  they  came  in  sight  of  the  ranch,  Jean,  unable 
to  restrain  her  impatience,  rose  to  her  feet  and,  hold- 
ing her  brother's  shoulder,  took  a  long  look.  He 
felt  her  hand  tighten,  gripping  him  hard.  Then  she 
dropped  back  into  the  seat  beside  him. 

"It — it  hit  us!"  she  said. 

In  a  few  moments  Angus  could  see  for  himself. 
The  fields  of  grain  which,  as  they  had  driven  away 
that  morning,  had  rippled  in  the  fresh  wind,  nodding 
full,  heavy  heads  to  the  blue  sky,  were  beaten  flat. 
The  heads  themselves  were  threshed  by  the  icy  flail 
of  the  storm.  He  knew  as  he  looked  at  the  flattened 
ruin  that  there  would  be  no  threshing.  He  was 
"hailed  out"! 

Though  the  event  assumed  the  proportions  of  a 
disaster,  Angus  said  not  a  word.  His  black  brows 
drew  down  and  his  mouth  set  hard.  That  was  all. 
He  felt  Jean's  arm  go  beneath  his  and  press  it. 

"I'm  sorry,  old  boy!"  she  said.  "We  needed  the 
money,  didn't  we!" 

"Yes,"  he  replied. 

"Oh,  well,  it  can't  be  helped,"  she  said.  "I'll  stay 
home  this  winter,  of  course.  I  can  do  that  much  to 
help,  anyway." 

"You  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  her  brother 
declared. 

"But " 

"I  will  find  the  money.  You  will  finish  what  you 
have  begun,  and  that  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

"I  won't " 

"You  will!"  Angus  said  in  a  voice  his  sister  had 
never  heard  before.  "I  say  you  will.  You  have  a 
right  to  your  education,  and  you  shall  have  it.  If 
I  cannot  give  it  to  you,  I  am  no  man  at  all !" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MAINLY  ABOUT   CHETWOOD 

WHEN  Angus  came  to  investigate  the  damage 
wrought  by  the  hail,  he  found  it  very  com- 
plete.    There  would  be  no  grain  to  thresh. 
It  turned  out  that  his  had  been  the  only  ranch  to 
suffer,  the  swath  of  the  storm  having  missed  his 
neighbors.     It  seemed  the  climax  of  the  bad  luck 
which  had  attended  that  twenty-four  hours. 

Jean,  when  she  saw  that  her  brother  was  absolutely 
determined  that  she  should  have  another  year  of 
study,  gave  in,  knowing  nothing  of  the  money  he  had 
borrowed.  In  the  fortnight  that  elapsed  before  her 
departure,  she  was  very  busy,  not  only  with  her  own 
preparations,  but  with  preserving,  pickling  and  mend- 
ing for  the  ranch. 

During  this  time  Chetwood  was  an  intermittent 
visitor.  On  these  visits  most  of  his  time  was  spent 
in  Jean's  vicinity.  Thus,  on  the  eve  of  her  departure, 
when  she  was  very  busy  with  a  final  batch  of  pre- 
serves, he  appeared  in  the  door.  In  his  eyes,  Jean, 
uniformed  in  a  voluminous  blue  apron,  her  face 
flushed  and  her  strong  young  arms  bare,  made  a  very 
charming  picture.  But  Jean  did  not  know  that.  She 
was  extremely  hot  and  somewhat  sticky,  and  believed 
herself  to  be  untidy.  She  felt  all  the  discomfort  and 
none  of  the  dignity  of  labor.  Hence  her  greeting 
was  not  cordial. 

"I  haven't  time  to  stop,"  she  said,  indicating  pre- 
serving kettle  and  jars  with  a  wave  of  a  dripping 
ladle.  "You  had  better  go  and  find  the  boys." 

125 


126      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Please  let  me  stay.    I  like  to  watch  you." 

"I  don't  like  being  watched.  You  can't  find  much 
amusement  in  watching  me  work." 

"Very  jolly  thing,  work,"  Chetwood  observed 
gravely. 

"Bosh !"  Miss  Jean  returned.  She  eyed  her  guest 
with  pardonable  irritation.  "What  do  you  know 
about  work?"  she  demanded. 

"Why — er — not  a  great  deal,  I'm  afraid,"  he 
admitted. 

"Then  don't  talk  nonsense." 

"But  it  isn't  nonsense.  I  mean  to  say  work  keeps 
one  occupied,  you  know." 

"I  notice  it  keeps  me  occupied,"  Miss  Jean  retorted, 
still  more  irritated  by  this  profound  observation. 

"I  mean  one  gets  tired  of  doing  nothing." 

"Then  why  doesn't  one  do  something?"  she 
snapped. 

Chetwood  regarded  her  whimsically.  "I'm  afraid 
you  mean  me." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Jean,  "I  would  like  to  see  you 
busy  at  something,  instead  of  looking  so  blessed  cool 
and — and  lazy." 

"Oh,  I  say!" 

"A  man  who  doesn't  work  in  this  country,"  Jean 
stated  severely,  "is  out  of  place." 

"But  a  man  who  is  out  of  a  place  doesn't  work, 
does  he?" 

"I'm  not  joking,"  Miss  Jean  said  with  dignity.  "I 
believe  in  work  for  everybody." 

"So  do  I.    Admire  it  immensely,  I  assure  you." 

"Bah!"  Miss  Jean  ejaculated.  "I  don't  believe 
you  could  do  a  day's  work  on  a  bet.  You're  like 
all  the  rest  of — of " 


MAINLY  ABOUT  CHETWOOD       127 

"Go  on,"  Chetwood  encouraged  as  she  came  to  a 
stop  in  some  confusion. 

"Well,  I  will,"  said  Miss  Jean  with  sudden  deter- 
mination. "You're  like  all  the  rest  of  the  remittance 
men.  That's  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

"One  would  gather  that  your  opinion  of  what  you 
call  'remittance  men,'  is  not  high." 

"High!"  Miss  Jean's  tone  expressed  much. 

"H'm!    Wasters,  rotters,  what?" 

"And  then  some." 

"And  I'm  like  them,  you  think?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  didn't  mean  just  that,"  Miss  Jean 
admitted  under  cross-examination.  "But  you  don't 
work,  you  know." 

"Would  you  like  me  to  work?" 

"Why  should  I  care  whether  you  work  or  not?" 

"It  is  strange,"  Chetwood  murmured. 

"I  don't!"  snapped  Miss  Jean.  "I  don't  care  a — 
a  darn !  But  I'll  bet  when  I  come  back:  in  the  spring, 
if  you're  here  you'll  be  doing  just  what  you're  doing 
now." 

"I'm  sorry  you're  going  away.  I  thought  if  we 
were  better  acquainted  we  should  be  rather  pals." 

"We  might  be,"  Miss  Jean  admitted,  "but  we  have 
our  work  to  do — at  least  I  have." 

"I  see  plainly,"  said  Chetwood,  "that  this  demon 
of  work  will  get  me  yet." 

"Well,  it  won't  hurt  you  a  little  bit,"  Miss  Jean 
told  him,  and  thereafter  gave  her  exclusive  attention 
to  her  preserving. 

With  the  going  of  Jean,  Angus  buckled  down  in 
earnest.  The  next  year  must  make  up  for  his  loss, 
and  with  this  in  view  he  began  to  clear  more  land. 
He  threw  himself  into  the  labor,  matching  his 


128      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

strength  and  endurance  against  the  tasks  and  the  time. 
He  worked  his  teams  as  mercilessly  as  he  worked 
himself,  and  for  the  first  time  he  began  to  drive 
others. 

But  to  this  speeding-up  Turkey  did  not  take  kindly. 
By  nature  he  was  impatient  of  steady  work,  of  control, 
of  all  discipline.  He  craved  motion,  excitement.  He 
would  ride  from  daylight  to  dark  in  any  sort  of 
weather  rounding  up  stock,  and  enjoy  himself  thor- 
oughly, but  half  a  day  behind  a  plow  would  send  him 
into  the  sulks.  He  had  broken  a  fine,  young  blue 
mare  for  his  own  use,  and  he  took  to  being  out  at 
night,  coming  in  late.  He  never  told  Angus  where  he 
went,  but  though  the  latter  asked  no  questions  the 
youngster  could  feel  his  disapproval.  But  as  he 
possessed  a  vein  of  obstinacy  and  contrariness,  this 
merely  confirmed  him  in  his  course. 

Angus  maintained  grim  silence,  repressing  a 
strong  desire  to  speak  his  mind.  He  recognized  that 
the  boy  was  becoming  increasingly  impatient  of  his 
authority,  and  desired  to  avoid  a  clash.  As  he  let 
things  go,  Turkey  took  more  and  more  rope.  Angus 
learned  accidentally  that  he  consorted  with  a  number 
of  men  older  than  himself,  of  whom  Garland  and 
Blake  French  were  leading  spirits.  He  knew  that 
this  was  no  company  for  the  boy,  but  as  reference 
to  it  would  inevitably  lead  to  unpleasantness,  he  put 
it  off.  But  Turkey's  deliberate  slacking  of  work,  just 
when  it  was  most  necessary,  got  on  his  nerves  to  an 
extent  greater  than  he  knew. 

It  was  necessary  to  explain  to  Mr.  Braden  that  he 
was  unable  to  meet  the  mortgage  payments.  To  his 
relief,  the  mortgagee  made  no  difficulty  about  it. 
Indeed  he  was  most  genial. 


MAINLY  ABOUT  CHETWOOD      129 

"I  heard  you  had  been  hit  by  the  hail,"  he  said. 
"Well,  well,  these  things  will  happen,  and  I  am  not 
a  harsh  creditor.  I  will  carry  you  along." 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  Angus  acknowledged. 
"I  am  doing  considerable  breaking,  and  next  year, 
if  I  don't  bump  into  more  hard  luck,  I'll  be  able  to 
make  a  good  payment." 

Mr.  Braden  nodded.  "Meanwhile  there  is  some^ 
thing  you  can  do  for  me.  I  am  selling  a  piece  of  land 
to  young  Chetwood — about  five  hundred  acres — but 
before  closing  the  deal  he  wants  your  opinion  of  it." 

Angus  had  not  seen  Chetwood  for  nearly  a  fort- 
night. He  had  not  introduced  him  to  Mr.  Braden, 
but  it  appeared  that  they  had  become  acquainted 
otherwise. 

"Do  I  know  the  land?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  so.  It's  about  five  miles  from  your  ranch, 
on  Canon  Creek.  There  is  a  little  cleared,  and  an 
old  shack,  but  otherwise  it  is  mostly  unimproved.  A 
splendid  opportunity  for  an  energetic  young  man  to 
build  up  an  excellent  ranch." 

"Do  you  mean  the  old  Tetreau  place?"  This 
was  a  piece  of  land  long  since  abandoned  by  a  man 
of  that  name. 

"Why — er — yes,  I  believe  that  is  what  it  is  called," 
Mr.  Braden  replied.  "It's  good,  level  land — most  of 
it.  I  am  offering  it  at  a  very  low  figure — all  things 
considered — twenty  dollars." 

"And  I  particularly  want  this- deal  to  go  through," 
he  concluded.  "I  should  not  mind  paying  you  a  little 
commission,  my  boy — say  five  per  cent." 

"I  couldn't  take  a  commission  from  you  for  valu- 
ing land  for  a  buyer." 

"Nonsense  I     Done   every*  day.     I    might — cr — 


;i30      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

stretch  it  a  little.  You  are  not  to  worry  about  that 
note  of  yours  and  the  mortgage  money,  my  boy.  One 
good  turn  deserves  another,  hey?" 

"I  know  the  place,"  Angus  said,  "but  I  never 
thought  of  putting  a  value  on  it.  How  about  water?" 

"Tetreau  had  a  record  of  eight  hundred  inches  on 
Canon  Creek.  That  goes  with  the  place.  And  there's 
a  good  spring  creek." 

"That  little  spring  wouldn't  irrigate  more  than 
a  few  acres,"  Angus  objected.  "Seems  to  me  I  heard 
the  old  man  quit  because  he  couldn't  bring  water 
from  the  main  creek." 

Mr.  Braden  frowned.  "Nonsense  1  Plenty  of 
water.  Tetreau  was  too  lazy  to  run  a  ditch,  that's 
all.  Lots  of  water.  Never  mind  that.  The  main 
thing  is  the  land,  which  is  good.  I'll  depend  on  you 
for  a  good  report,  and  I'll  tell  Chetwood  to  run  out 
and  see  you." 

Angus  rode  home,  none  too  well  pleased  with  the 
prospect.  He  could  just  remember  Felix  Tetreau,  a 
stooped  old  Frenchman,  and  he  had  a  vague  recol- 
lection that  the  latter  had  given  up  the  place  after 
a  vain  attempt  to  make  water  run  up  hill.  But  it 
was  possible  that  he  had  been  wrong  in  his  levels,  or, 
as  Mr.  Braden  had  suggested,  too  lazy  to  put  in  a 
ditch.  Anyway,  he  had  gone  years  before,  and  it 
appeared  that  Mr.  Braden  who  owned  a  big  block  of 
land  in  that  vicinity,  had  acquired  his  holding.  The 
clearing  had  grown  back  to  wild,  which  as  there  had 
not  been  much  of  it,  mattered  the  less.  But  the 
question  of  water  mattered  a  great  deal. 

For  in  that  district  water  was  a  sine  qua  non. 
Angus  was  no  victim  of  the  dry-farming  delusion. 
Water  and  plenty  of  it,  was  essential  in  most  years  to 


grow  paying  crops.  Therefore  the  value  of  the  land, 
no  matter  what  the  quality  of  the  soil,  was  condi- 
tional upon  whether  water  could  be  brought  upon  it. 
It  was  that  question  which,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Braden's 
airy  dismissal,  must  be  investigated  in  justice  to  Chet- 
wood.  Therefore  when  the  latter  came  to  the  ranch, 
Angus  took  with  them  a  hand  level. 

The  land  in  question  lay  close  to  the  foothills,  and 
back  of  it  a  small,  round  mountain  rose,  but  this  was 
evidently  not  part  of  the  parcel.  The  soil  was  a 
dark,  sandy  loam,  which  would  give  good  result  if 
properly  fed,  watered  and  cultivated.  Angus  pointed 
out  these  facts  to  the  prospective  buyer. 

"Then  you  think  it  a  good  investment?"  Chetwood 
queried. 

"I  did  not  say  just  that,"  Angus  replied.  "You 
have  to  add  the  cost  of  clearing  to  your  purchase 
price.  Then  there  will  be  your  buildings  and  fencing 
and  ditches.  You  have  to  figure  on  raising  enough 
to  pay  interest  on  your  total  investment,  and  wages 
as  well." 

"I  meant  to  ask  you  about  the  price.  Is  it  fair, 
or  shall  I  jew  old  Braden  down  a  bit  ?  Fancy  I  could, 
you  know." 

"The  price  is  high — as  land  sells,"  Angus  told 
him.  "You  can  get  good,  wild  land  now  for  ten  dol- 
lars an  acre.  Five  years  ago  you  could  have  got  it 
for  two  dollars,  and  five  years  before  that  for  fifty 
cents." 

Chetwood  whistled.  "In  the  noble  language  of 
the  country,  I  was  about  to  be  stung." 

"Well,"  Angus  explained,  "if  land  values  keep 
climbing,  it  might  be  a  good  investment,  after  all. 
I  would  not  say  it  might  not  be.  But  you  can  buy 


ij2      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

just  as  good  land  cheaper." 

"Then  why  does  Braden  ask  so  much?" 

"I  suppose  he  thinks  he  can  get  it." 

Chetwood  grinned.  "In  the  terse  vernacular  of  the 
land,  4I  get  you,  Steve.'  Shall  I  offer  him  ten  dol- 
lars?" 

"That  would  depend  on  the  water  supply." 

"Oh,  that's  absolutely  all  right.  I've  seen  the  gov- 
ernment certificate.  Eight  hundred  miners'  inches. 
That's  ample,  what?" 

"Yes — if  you  can  get  it  on  the  land." 

"But  surely  that  sort  of  thing  was  looked  into  long 
ago,  when  the  record  was  made." 

Angus  shook  his  head.  "A  water  record  isn't  a 
guarantee  of  water.  It's  merely  a  right  to  take  it 
if  you  can  get  it.  Water  is  one  thing  you  can't  take 
for  granted.  We  have  time  to  run  a  line  to  the  creek, 
and  see  where  we  come  out.  As  for  the  spring  here, 
it  wouldn't  water  more  than  ten  acres  or  so." 

There  is  nothing  more  deceptive,  even  to  the 
trained  eye,  than  levels  in  a  broken  country.  The 
unaided  eye  can  tell  nothing  about  them.  To  all 
appearances,  in  many  places,  water  runs  up  hill. 
Nothing  but  the  level  can  prove  whether  it  can  be 
brought  upon  any  given  area. 

Starting  from  the  upper  end  of  the  block  they 
began  to  take  sights.  The  distance  to  the  creek  was 
further  than  Angus  had  supposed.  They  ran  into  a 
broken  country  where  the  ground  was  rocky  and  less 
adapted  to  ditching.  There  were  sidehills,  which 
are  dangerous  because  they  have  an  annoying  habit 
of  sliding  when  water-soaked,  and  gulches  which 
would  necessitate  fluming.  All  the  time  they 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  base  of  the  round 


MAINLY  ABOUT  CHETWOOD       133 

mountain.  Unless  the  line  could  run  around  the 
lower  foot  of  it  the  way  was  barred  to  water.  And 
finally  the  line  ran  into  the  base  of  the  hill.  There 
was  no  going  around  it.  It  definitely  settled  the  ques- 
tion of  water.  The  land,  then,  was  non-irrigable. 

"I  wonder  if  that  old  blighter,  Braden,  knew  this?" 
Chetwood  speculated. 

"He  might  not,"  Angus  replied,  though  he  had 
his  own  ideas  on  the  subject. 

"And  then  again  he  might,"  Chetwood  grinned. 
"Caveat  emptor,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  I'm 
awfully  obliged  to  you,  you  know." 

"That  is  all  right." 

"Left  to  myself  I  might  have  bought."  He  hesi- 
tated. "I  wish  there  were  some  way  for  me  to  show 
my  appreciation." 

"Any  one  who  knew  the  country  would  have  told 
you  the  same  thing." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  For  instance,  there  is  a 
rancher  named  Poole — know  him?" 

"Yes,"  Angus  returned,  for  Poole  to  whom  Bra- 
den  had  once  purposed  renting  the  Mackay  ranch, 
had  now  some  sort  of  place  on  the  other  side  of  town. 

"Well,  friend  Braden,  when  I  spoke  of  getting 
the  opinion  of  some  practical  rancher,  suggested 
Poole.  Took  a  look  at  Poole,  and  thought  I'd  rather 
have  you.  Braden  didn't  seem  to  take  kindly  to  my 
counter-suggestion,  which  naturally  confirmed  me  in 
it.  It's  a  sound  system  to  play  the  game  your 
opponent  doesn't  like.  I'll  tell  the  old  blighter  you 
didn't  recommend  the  buy." 

"That  will  be  the  truth." 

Chetwood  glanced  at  him  keenly. 

"I  say,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  don't  wish  to  seem  imper- 


i34      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

tinent,  but  is  there  any  personal  reason  why  I  should 
let  Braden  suppose  I  am  doing  this  on  my  own?" 

Angus  hesitated.  "I  owe  him  more  money  than  I 
can  pay  just  now,"  he  said,  "but  you  may  tell  him 
what  you  like." 

"Oh,  thunder!"  Chetwood  ejaculated.  "I'm 
afraid  I've  let  you  in  for  something.  I'll  say  we 
never  mentioned  water,  and  quite  on  my  own  I'll  tell 
him  I  must  have  an  engineer's  report  on  that." 

But  perhaps  Chetwood  did  not  tell  his  story  con- 
vincingly. Or  perhaps  Mr.  Braden  was  too  old  a 
bird.  At  any  rate,  when  he  next  saw  Angus  he  asked 
him  what  he  had  told  Chetwood.  Angus  replied 
bluntly.  Whereupon,  Mr.  Braden  in  high  indigna- 
tion accused  him  of  blocking  the  sale. 

"I  merely  told  him  what  is  so,"  Angus  said. 

"You  brought  up  the  water  question  yourself." 

"Land  is  no  good  without  water.  You  know  that 
as  well  as  I  do." 

"I  don't  admit  that  water  can't  be  got  on  this 
land.  Now,  see  here,  I'm  going  to  have  a  surveyor 
run  the  line  of  a  ditch,  and  I  want  you  to  tell  Chet- 
wood you  were  mistaken  in  your  levels.  Under- 
stand?" 

"If  you  can  show  me  I'm  mistaken,  I'll  be  glad 
to  tell  him.  But  I'm  certain  of  them.  I've  checked 
them  up  since." 

"Dammit !"  Mr.  Braden  exploded  angrily,  "do  you 
know  I  hold  a  mortgage  on  your  ranch?  Do  you 
know  I  hold  your  note?  Hey?" 

Angus  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  his  black  brows 
drawing  down,  his  eyes  narrowing.  "And  what  has 
that  got  to  do  with  the  levels  of  this  land?"  he  asked 
with  disconcerting  directness. 


MAINLY  ABOUT  CHETWOOD       135 

But  Mr.  Braden  shirked  the  showdown. 

"Do  with  it,  do  with  it !"  he  sputtered.  "Oh,  not 
a  thing,  not  a  damned  thing,  of  course.  You  were 
my  agent  to  conclude  this  sale,  and  you  threw  me 
down." 

"I  wasn't  your  agent.  I  was  acting  for  Chet- 
wood." 

"You  were  to  get  a  commission  from  me." 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't  take  one." 

"Well,  you  won't  get  one,"  Mr.  Braden  snapped. 
"Levels  !  What  do  you  know  about  levels  ?  I'll  get 
somebody  that  does." 

But  for  some  reason  Mr.  Braden  did  not  do  so. 

It  was  nearly  a  week  after  this  interview,  that  old 
Paul  Sam  rode  up  on  his  paint  pony,  leading  Chief. 

"Me  sell  um  cooley  kuitan,"  he  announced. 

"Who  bought  him?"  Angus  asked.  For  answer 
the  old  Indian  drew  forth  from  the  recesses  of  his 
garment  a  slip  of  paper,  which  he  handed  to  Angus. 
The  latter  read: 

"Dear  Mackay:  I  want  you  to  let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
presenting  a  good  horse  with  a  good  owner.  This,  not  by 
way  of  payment  for  the  service  you  did  me,  but  in  token  of 
my  appreciation  of  kindness  to  a  pilgrim  and  a  stranger  here. 
Am  leaving  for  a  few  weeks,  and  will  look  you  up  on  my 
return.  Faithfully, 

E.  W.  F.  CHETWOOD. 

P.  S. — Don't  be  a  bally  ass.     Keep  the  horse." 

From  this  surprising  letter  Angus  lifted  his  eyes  to 
the  big  chestnut.  As  he  did  so  he  realized  that  he  had 
wanted  him  very  badly.  He  took  the  lead  rope  from 
the  old  Indian. 

"All  right,  Paul  Sam,"  he  said.  "Thanks  for 
bringing  him  over.  Put  your  cayuse  in  the  stable  and 
come  up  to  the  house  and  have  some  muckamuck." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  FIGHT  WITH  A  GRIZZLY 

NOW,  though  Angus  was  working  hard  under 
pressure,  the  hard  part  of  it  was  not  the  work 
but  the  things  he  wanted  to  do  and  could  not. 
Though  he  plugged  away  steadily  at  his  tasks,  his 
thoughts  were  not  of  them,  but  of  lonely  trails,  and 
steep  hills,  and  deep  timber,  and  the  surging  waters 
tumbling  down  in  nameless  creeks  from  hoary  old  gla- 
ciers; and  he  would  have  given  all  he  owned  if  he  could 
with  a  clear  conscience  have  quit  the  ranch  work  and 
taken  a  holiday.  But  as  he  could  not,  he  worked  on 
grimly. 

Occasionally,  however,  he  rode  the  range  after  stock, 
and  on  these  occasions  he  carried  a  rifle,  on  the  chance 
of  getting  a  shot  at  a  deer.  Invariably  now  he  rode 
Chief,  who  was  becoming  a  most  dependable  saddle 
horse.  And  so  one  bright  fall  morning  he  rode  along 
the  foothills  to  find,  if  he  could,  a  small  bunch  of  cattle 
which  he  himself  had  not  seen  since  Spring. 

Shortly  after  mid-day  he  found  himself  near  the  site 
of  an  old  logging  camp,  where  several  creeks  united  to 
form  a  muskeg,  and  at  the  foot  of  it  a  little  lake.  Out 
of  the  lake  a  larger  creek  ran,  and  across  it  stood  the 
old  camp  buildings,  now  worn  and  weatherbeaten  and 
roofless.  The  banks  were  steeply  cut  and  the  old  pole 
bridge  was  rotten.  Therefore  Angus  put  Chief  on  a 
rope  where  the  grazing  was  good,  and  taking  his  lunch 
and  rifle,  crossed  the  creek,  intending  to  eat  beside  an 
excellent  spring  which  was  better  than  the  creek  water. 

136 


137 

He  leaned  his  rifle  against  one  end  of  the  ancient 
bunkhouse,  went  the  length  of  it,  turned  the  corner,  and 
came  full  upon  a  huge,  old-man  grizzly. 

The  bear  had  been  digging  at  a  rotten  stumpv  which 
strewed  the  ground  in  fragments,  and  the  brawl  of  the 
creek  had  drowned  whatever  noise  Angus  had  made. 
Thus  it  was  a  case  of  mutual  surprise.  As  Angus 
turned  the  corner  the  bear's  senses  brought  him  warning. 
He  turned  his  great,  flat  head,  and  at  sight  of  the  in- 
truder his  mane  reached  and  bristled,  and  he  swung 
about  with  unbelievabe  quickness.  Being  more  or  less 
penned  by  the  wall  of  the  eating  camp  and  an  old  pole 
fence,  he  probably  believed  himself  cornered.  He  half 
rose,  with  a  snort,  and  his  fierce,  little  eyes  lit  with  a 
green  flare. 

Angus  had  had  no  first-hand  experience  with  grizzlies, 
though  he  had  seen  them  at  a  distance.  Nevertheless, 
he  knew  a  good  deal  about  them  from  men  who  had. 
and  his  information  amounted  to  this :  The  ordinary 
grizzly  will  run  if  he  can;  but  if  he  is  wounded  or 
believes  himself  cornered,  there  is  no  telling  just  what 
he  will  do.  Also  there  are  "bad"  bears,  just  as  there 
are  ubad"  bulls  or  stallions. 

The  bear  was  a  complete  surprise  to  Angus.  He  was 
so  close  that  he  could  almost  smell  him,  could  see  the 
little  pieces  of  rotten,  wet  wood  and  slaver  on  his  jaws, 
the  red  of  his  mouth  and  the  white  of  his  tusks  all 
speckled  with  dirt  from  his  grubbing.  For  a  moment  his 
heart  almost  stopped  beating,  his  hair  prickled,  and 
stood  on  end,  and  his  knees  knocked  together.  For  an 
instant  he  stood  frozen  in  his  tracks,  and  then  as  he  saw 
the  great  brown  bulk  gather  itself  he  came  to  life  and 
action.  With  an  involuntary  yell  he  leaped  into  the  air 
like  a  scared  lynx,  turned  and  hit  the  ground  running. 


i3 8        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Behind  him  he  heard  a  short,  coughing  roar,  and  it 
nearly  doubled  the  stretch  of  his  stride.  He  made  the 
length  of  the  bunkhouse,  turned  it  and  grabbed  for  his 
rifle.  But  his  fingers  merely  brushed  the  barrel  and 
knocked  it  down.  There  was  no  time  to  pick  it  up.  He 
doubled  the  next  corner  like  a  rabbit  and  after  him 
came  the  grizzly,  with  most  infernal  persistence. 

For  a  short  distance  a  grizzly  is  as  fast  as  a  good 
pony,  and  all  that  had  saved  Angus  was  dodging  around 
corners.  But  that  could  not  go  on  indefinitely.  The 
walls  of  the  roofless  bunk-house  were  of  logs,  closely 
mortised,  but  inside  he  knew  there  were  the  remains 
of  some  old,  double-decked  bunks.  It  was  taking  a 
chance,  but  he  ducked  through  the  door  opening,  scram- 
bled up  on  the  bunks,  the  old  poles  crashing  beneath 
him,  and  straddled  the  top  log  just  in  time  to  escape 
the  swipe  of  a  steel-garnished  paw  which  actually 
brushed  his  leg. 

From  this  strategic  position,  rather  out  of  breath  and 
somewhat  shaky,  he  looked  down  at  the  grizzly,  and 
the  bear  looked  up  at  him,  rumbling  and  grumbling  to 
himself,  his  wicked,  little  eyes  burning  with  unholy 
lights.  He  was  a  big  bear,  shaggy  and  rough,  with  a 
sprinkle  of  gray  in  his  mane,  and  there  was  no  doubt 
that  he  was  annoyed.  As  a  beginning  he  knocked  a 
bunk  to  pieces  with  one  lift  and  bat  of  a  paw,  and  rear- 
ing he  reached  for  Angus.  Luckily  the  wall  was  high, 
and  the  big  claws  raked  bark  and  slivers  below  him. 
Not  being  able  to  reach  his  enemy,  the  bear  dropped 
back  with  a  grunt,  and  stood  swinging  to  and  fro  gently. 

It  occurred  to  Angus  that  he  might  drop  over  the 
wall,  get  his  rifle  and  call  for  a  show-down,  but  as  he 
waited  to  get  back  some  of  his  breath  and  steadiness, 
meanwhile  hitching  along  the  wall  to  get  closer  to  the 


A  FIGHT  WITH  A  GRIZZLY          139 

gun,  the  bear  shambled  through  the  door.  He  trotted 
around  the  bunk-house,  and  coming  to  the  rifle  sniffed 
at  it  and  took  a  wide  circle.  Perhaps  he  knew  the  smell 
of  steel,  and  suspected  a  trap.  But  after  prowling  up 
and  down  for  a  few  minutes  eying  the  treed  man,  he 
did  not  go  away,  which  was  quite  contrary  to  what 
Angus  had  heard  of  the  habits  of  bears  under  similar 
circumstances.  He  lay  down  like  a  dog,  apparently 
prepared  to  camp  there  indefinitely. 

From  where  Angus  sat  he  could  see  Chief,  standing 
hip-shot  and  half  asleep,  quite  unconscious  of  the  bear, 
and  he  was  glad  that  the  latter  was  equally  unconscious 
of  the  horse,  for  he  seemed  full  of  racial  prejudice 
against  man  and  his  possessions.  All  Angus  could  do 
was  wait  it  out.  An  hour  passed,  and  he  grew  weary 
of  his  position,  and  indignant  at  being  forced  to  lie 
along  a  log  like  a  lizard  by  a  low-grade  proposition 
like  a  bear.  He  tore  off  bark  and  pelted  him  with  it. 
The  grizzly  merely  eyed  him  evilly  and  sniffed  at  what 
he  threw;  so  Angus  gave  it  up,  and  more  time  passed. 

In  spite  of  his  position  the  sun  and  wind  made  him 
sleepy.  Perhaps  he  dozed.  He  had  seen  and  heard 
nothing.  But  suddenly  as  he  turned  his  head  he  saw  a 
girl  a  few  yards  away  from  the  old  eating-camp. 

For  a  moment  Angus  did  not  believe  his  eyes.  It 
seemed  one  of  those  vague  visions  which  flit  across 
the  mental  retina  in  that  dim  shadowland  between  wake- 
fulness  and  slumber.  She  was  looking  down  into  the 
finder  of  a  camera,  while  back  of  her,  reins  lying  on 
its  neck  instead  of  a-trail,  stood  a  pony.  She  was  tall 
and  straight,  and  a  crown  of  hair  shone  to  the  slope  of 
the  afternoon's  sun,  for  she  was  using  a  pony  hat  to 
shield  the  camera's  lens. 

Angus  gaped  and  blinked,  and  then  he  knew  it  was 


140 

no  dream  vision,  but  real  flesh  and  blood.  Just  then 
she  got  her  picture  and  took  a  step  or  two  in  his  direction, 
winding  up  the  film. 

"Hi!"  Angus  hailed,  "don't  come  here.  Get  on 
your  pony,  quick." 

Being  very  much  in  earnest,  voice  and  words  were 
harsh,  peremptory.  The  girl  stopped  short  and  looked 
around.  Then  for  the  first  time  she  saw  him  perched 
on  the  wall. 

"I  beg  your  pardon !"  she  said,  her  voice  carrying 
clear  and  full,  a  touch  of  hauteur  in  her  tone  answering 
the  harshness  of  Angus'  command.  "I'm  not  to  come 
there,  you  say.  Why  not?"  Her  chin  lifted  as  she 
spoke  and  she  took  another  step  forward. 

"Bear!"  Angus  returned.  "Get  back,  I  tell  you.  I'm 
treed  by  a  bad  grizzly.  Get  on  your  pony  and  pull  out 
before  he  sees  you." 

The  girl  stopped.  "Do  you  mean  that?"  she 
demanded  incredulously. 

"Do  I  mean  it?"  Angus  yelled,  exasperated  by  her 
delay  and  frightened  at  her  very  real  danger.  "Get  a 
move  on  you,  woman,  if  you  have  any  sense !  He  hears 
you  now !" 

His  tone  left  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity,  and  the  girl, 
turning,  ran  toward  her  pony.  But  the  animal,  not 
being  anchored  by  the  reins,  sidled  away  at  her  swift 
approach. 

"Hurry  up!"  Angus  shouted,  for  the  big  savage 
below  him,  hearing  another  voice,  was  bristling  afresh 
and  suddenly  started  around  the  corner  of  the  building 
to  investigate.  Just  then  the  pony  either  sighted  or 
smelt  the  bear,  for  he  snorted,  wheeled  and  broke  into 
a  gallop.  "Run!"  Angus  yelled.  "Get  behind  that 
eating-camp.  Try  to  climb  it,  quick!"  And  not  having 


A  FIGHT  WITH  A  GRIZZLY          141 

time  for  more  words  he  dropped  from  his  perch,  lit 
sprawling  alongside  his  rifle,  seized  it,  and  jumped 
around  the  corner  into  the  open  in  the  wake  of  the 
grizzly,  his  hand  hooked  into  the  lever,  while  a  long 
soft-nose  snicked  home  in  the  chamber. 

The  girl,  now  fully  alive  to  her  danger,  was  running 
for  the  corner  of  the  eating  camp,  and  the  grizzly,  half- 
way between,  was  after  her.  So  much  Angus  saw  at  a 
glance,  and  then  he  caught  the  lumbering  but  swift 
bulk  fair  center  with  the  bead,  and  unhooked. 

With  the  high-pitched,  smacking  voice  of  the  rifle 
mingled  the  roar  of  the  wounded  grizzly.  He  went 
heels  over  head  like  a  shot  rabbit,  came  on  his  feet  again 
facing  the  gun,  took  a  second  bullet  as  if  it  had  been 
a  pellet  of  bird-shot,  and  coughing  out  a  fighting  roar 
that  seemed  to  hold  all  the  bestial  ferocity  of  the  ages, 
came  for  Angus  like  a  furry  tornado. 

There  is  this  about  a  grizzly  which  entitles  him  to 
respect:  When  he  charges,  he  charges  home.  This 
fact  Angus  knew  very  well.  The  bear  was  a  scant 
forty  yards  away.  Angus  caught  the  center  of  him 
with  his  sights,  and  began  to  pump  steadily.  His  entire 
attention  was  concentrated  on  holding  the  sights,  and 
otherwise  the  gun  seemed  to  shoot  itself.  Missing  was 
next  to  impossible  at  that  range,  but  so  also  was  choice 
of  aim.  "When  anything's  comin'  for  you  close  up," 
Rennie  had  once  advised  him,  "don't  try  to  hit  nowhere's 
special,  but  just  hold  plum'  center  and  keep  shootin'." 
While  Angus  did  not  consciously  remember  this  advice, 
he  followed  it,  with  a  dull  wonder  that  the  stream  of 
soft-noses  tearing  through  the  great  brute's  vitals  did 
not  stop  him.  His  last  shot  was  fired  at  ten  feet,  and 
the  hammer  clicked  down  on  an  empty  chamber.  As 
the  brown  bulk  hurled  itself  upon  him,  he  lunged  the 


1 42        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

rifle  barrel  with  all  his  force  into  the  yawning,  white- 
tusked,  red  mouth.  But  as  he  tried  to  leap  aside  a  huge 
paw  blurred  for  an  instant  before  his  eyes  and  then  blot- 
ted out  the  world.  He  went  down,  crushed  and 
smothered  as  by  the  weight  of  mountains. 


CHAPTER  XV 

FAITH  WINTON  TURNS  UP 

ANGUS  came  out  of  the  darkness  slowly  with  the 
weight  still  upon  him.  There  was  a  strange,  salt 
taste  in  his  mouth  and  a  rank  smell  in  his  nostrils. 
His  head  seemed  pillowed,  but  his  eyelids  were  gummed, 
and  when  he  threw  up  his  hand  to  clear  them  his  fingers 
touched  wetness.  Then  through  a  raw,  red  fog  he 
saw  a  girl's  face  bending  above  him,  and  blue  eyes  that 
seemed  misty  as  an  April  sky  through  showers,  though 
perhaps  it  was  only  his  uncertain  vision  that  made 
them  so. 

"Please  say  something — if  you  can  hear  me !"  said  a 
low,  clear  voice  as  his  senses  came  back  fully. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "I'm  all  right,  I  guess.  What's 
holding  me?  What's  on  me?" 

As  his  eyes  shifted  downward,  a  huge  mound  of 
brown  fur  rose  against  them,  hiding  the  landscape.  It 
was  the  carcass  of  the  bear  which  lay  across  his  legs, 
burying  them  from  the  waist  down. 

"I  can't  move  it,"  the  girl  told  him.  "Oh,  are  you 
badly  hurt?  Can  you  take  a  drink  of  water?  I'll  lift 
your  head !"  She  spoke  all  in  a  breath,  tremulously,  for 
she  had  considered  him  almost  a  dead  man.  She  lifted 
his  head  from  where  it  lay  in  her  lap,  and  held  an  old 
tin  can  full  of  spring  water  to  his  lips. 

Angus  drank  and  felt  better. 

"I  don't  think  I'm  hurt  much,"  he  said.  "Where  is 
all  the  blood  coming  from?"  He  put  his  hand  to  his 
head,  touching  gingerly  a  four-inch  rip  in  his  scalp. 

143 


144        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

There  was  a  pain  in  his  side  which  was  worse  when 
he  moved,  but  he  said  nothing  about  that  and  otherwise 
he  could  find  nothing  wrong. 

"You  must  get  out  from  under  that  brute,"  the  girl 
told  him.  "IVe  tried  to  pull  it  off,  and  I've  tried  to  pull 
you  out,  but  I'm  not  strong  enough." 

She  stooped  behind  him,  her  hands  beneath  his  shoul- 
ders, and  he  drew  his  legs  clear  of  the  weight.  When 
he  got  to  his  feet  he  was  giddy  for  a  moment  and  leaned 
against  her  for  support.  With  her  assistance  he  got  to 
the  spring,  and  washed  off  the  coagulated  blood,  while 
she  made  a  bandage  of  their  handkerchiefs  and  fitted 
it  deftly.  The  icy  water  cleared  away  the  last  of  the 
fog,  and  save  for  a  growing  stiffness  and  soreness  he 
felt  well  enough.  He  looked  at  the  girl  who  sat  beside 
him  on  the  brown  grass  and  wondered  who  she  was  and 
where  on  earth  she  had  come  from. 

The  girl  was  tall,  and  clean  and  graceful  as  a  young 
pine.  She  carried  her  head  well  lifted,  which  Angus 
considered  a  good  sign  in  horses  and  human  beings. 
A  mass  of  fair  hair  was  coiled  low  at  the  base  of  it  and 
drawn  smoothly  back  from  a  broad  forehead.  Her  eyes 
were  a  clear  blue  which  reminded  Angus  of  certain  moun- 
tain lakes,  and  yet  a  little  weary  and  troubled  as  if  some 
shadow  overcast  them.  Her  smooth  cheeks,  too,  were 
pale,  with  but  little  of  the  color  that  comes  from  the  kiss 
of  wind  and  sun.  She  was  an  utter  stranger  to  him,  and 
yet  there  was  something  vaguely  familiar. 

The  fact  was  that  he  was  staring  at  her.  She  met 
his  gaze  evenly. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  are  lucky  not  to  be  badly 
hurt?"  she  said. 

"It  would  have  served  me  right  if  I  had  been." 

"Why?" 


FAITH  WINTON  TURNS  UP          145 

"For  leaving  my  rifle  in  the  first  place,  and  for  rotten 
shooting  in  the  second,"  he  replied  seriously.  "I  should 
have  stopped  him,  and  so  I  would  if  I  had  taken  my 
time  about  it.  I  guess  I  got  rattled." 

"Is  that  your  trouble?"  she  laughed.  "The  bear  is 
simply  riddled  with  bullets." 

"Is  that  so?"  he  returned  with  obvious  pleasure.  "Tell 
me  what  happened." 

"I  stopped  running  when  you  fired  the  first  shot,"  she 
said.  "You  and  the  bear  seemed  to  go  down  together, 
and  he  rolled  clean  over  you.  It  was  only  in  his  last 
flurry  that  he  threw  himself  across  your  legs." 

"Lucky  he  didn't  claw  me  up  in  that  flurry.  He  was 
a  tough  old  boy." 

"If  you  had  been  killed  it  would  have  been  my  fault," 
she  said  seriously.  "You  were  quite  safe,  and  you 
attacked  him  to  save  me." 

"I  would  have  come  down,  anyway,  the  first  chance 
he  gave  me  to  get  hold  of  my  rifle." 

"It  was  stupid  of  me,"  she  persisted.  "At  first,  you 
see,  I  couldn't  believe  there  was  a  bear.  I  thought  you 
were  trying  to  frighten  me.  And  then  I  just  couldn't 
catch  that  pony.  I'm  not  used  to  horses,  I'm  afraid." 

Now,  as  she  spoke,  something  in  her  voice  struck  a 
chord  in  Angus'  recollection.  Where  had  he  heard  that 
faint  lisp,  that  slurring  of  the  sibilants?  For  a  moment 
he  puzzled,  groping  for  an  elusive  memory.  And  then 
suddenly  it  leaped  at  him  out  of  the  one  day,  years 
before,  whose  happenings,  even  the  least  of  them,  he 
never  forgot.  And  he  saw  a  little  girl,  frightened  but 
trying  to  be  brave,  and  a  lanky  boy  confronting  her  with 
a  rifle. 

"Good  Lord!"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  little  Faith 
Winton !" 


i46        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

She  frowned,  drawing  herself  up  a  little. 

"I  am  Faith  Winton,  but  how  do  you  know?  Have 
I  ever — "  She  broke  off,  staring  at  him.  "Why,  it's 
impossible.  You  can't  be  that  boy!" 

"I  used  to  be,"  he  told  her.  "I've  grown  a  little, 
since." 

"Angus!  Angus  Mackay!"  she  cried,  her  face  light- 
ing swiftly.  "Oh,  I  know  you  now.  I've  never  forgotten. 
And  your  sister's  doughnuts!  How  good  they  were, 
and  how  good  you  were  to  me !"  She  leaned  forward, 
catching  his  great,  brown,  work-hardened  paws  in  her 
slim  hands.  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad  to  see  you  again,  Ang — 
I  mean  Mr.  Mackay." 

"My  name  is  still  Angus." 

"Oh,  but  that  was  years  ago.  How  did  you  recog- 
nize me?  I  was  such  a  little  girl.  To  think  of  meet- 
ing you  again — like  this !" 

"I  knew  you  by  your  lisp,"  he  told  her.  "And  I 
wish  you  would  call  me  'Angus.'  ' 

"Well— Anguth !"  She  said  it  with  the  old  lisp.  "I 
can't  help  it  sometimes,"  she  confessed.  "I  struggle 
and  struggle,  and  then  I  forget  myself  and — lithp.  Do 
you  mind  it  very  much?" 

"I  like  it." 

"Tho  nithe  of  you  to  thay  tho!"  she  exaggerated 
laughing.  "No,  I  won't  lisp  any  more — until  I  forget 
myself.  But  how  big  you  are — almost  as  big  as  Gavin 
himself." 

"I  am  big  enough,"  Angus  admitted.  "I  get  in  my 
own  way  sometimes."  For  the  first  time  he  noticed  a 
black  band  on  her  sleeve.  She  caught  the  glance. 

"My  father  died  two  months  ago."  Her  voice  broke, 
and  Angus  looked  away. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  awkwardly. 


FAITH  WINTON  TURNS  UP          147 

"I  can't  talk  about  it  very  well  yet,"  she  said.  "I 
didn't  mean  to.  One  shouldn't — to  a  stranger." 

"But  I'm  not  a  stranger.  You  seem  like — well — like 
an  old  friend." 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  she  said,  smiling  a  trifle  sadly. 
"You  see,  father  and  I  were  always  together,  and  it's 
new  and — and  hard  to  be  alone.  But  I  suppose  I  shall 
get  used  to  it  after  a  while." 

"You  have  your  kin  here,"  he  ventured. 

"Yes,  I  have  them,"  she  agreed.  "But  they  are  not 
really  my  kin.  And  then  I  won't  be  with  them  very 
long." 

"You  are  going  away?"  For  some  reason  Angus 
experienced  a  sensation  of  regret. 

"No,  I  am  going  to  stay  here.  I  am  thinking  of 
ranching." 

"Ranching!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yes.     Why  not?" 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  it?" 

"No,  but  I  could  learn,  I  suppose." 

"I  suppose  you  might.  But  the  work  is  hard — man's 
work.  I  wouldn't  buy  a  ranch,  if  I  were  you." 

"But  I  have  one — or  the  makings  of  one.  A  few 
years  ago  Uncle  Godfrey  bought  nearly  a  thousand 
acres  for  father.  I'm  afraid  there  isn't  much  of  it 
cleared,  and  there  is  no  house  fit  to  live  in.  I  had  been 
to  look  at  it,  and  was  riding  back  by  this  old  logging 
camp.  That's  how  I  happened  to  be  here." 

"Where  is  this  land?"  Angus  asked. 

Her  reply  gave  him  almost  as  much  of  a  shock  as  he 
had  received  from  the  bear;  for  as  she  described  it,  the 
land,  or  at  least  part  of  it,  was  none  other  than  the  old 
Tetreau  place  which  Mr.  Braden  had  painstakingly  tried 
to  unload  on  Chetwood.  But  if  it  belonged  to  her  or  to 


148        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

her  father  how  could  Braden  sell  it?  And  then,  again, 
she  had  spoken  of  nearly  a  thousand  acres,  while  the  old 
Tetreau  place  comprised  some  five  hundred  only.  Some- 
thing of  his  thoughts  reflected  in  his  face. 

"Do  you  know  the  land?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I  know  it,"  he  admitted.  "Have  you  ever 
thought  of  selling  the  land  instead  of  ranching  it  ?  Has 
any  one  ever  tried  to  sell  it  for  you  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  replied.  "I  don't  want  to  sell  it — yet, 
a  while,  anyway.  Father's  idea  was  to  hold  it  till  land 
increased  very  much  in  value.  Uncle  Godfrey  told  him 
that  was  bound  to  occur.  It  was  an  investment,  you  see. 
It  cost  only  ten  dollars  an  acre." 

"You  mean  your  father  paid  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
the  land !"  Angus  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  in  round  figures.  He  never  saw  it.  Uncle 
Godfrey  said  it  was  well  worth  that,  and  of  course  he 
knows." 

There  was  little  that  Angus  could  say.  He  was  no 
stranger  to  wild-catting  in  lands,  but  he  held  to  the  old 
idea  that  agricultural  land  is  worth  what  it  will  grow 
and  no  more:  a  maxim  which,  if  remembered  by  pro- 
spective purchasers,  would  cut  down  both  sales  and  dis- 
appointments. But  the  puzzling  thing  was  that  Godfrey 
French,  who  wasn't  an  easy  mark  by  any  means,  should 
have  advised  his  relative  to  pay  ten  dollars  an  acre  for 
land  half  of  which  was  too  rough  to  cultivate  and  of 
which  all  was  non-irrigable;  and  this  at  a  time  when 
good,  wild  land  was  to  be  had  in  plenty  for  from  three 
to  five  dollars  an  acre.  Added  to  that  was  the  abortive 
Braden-Chetwood  deal.  The  one  clear  thing  was  that 
Faith  Winton  had  a  bunch  of  worthless  land.  He  hoped 
that  it  did  not  represent  her  entire  patrimony. 

"You  will  find  it  hard  work  starting  a  ranch,"  he  said. 


FAITH  WINTON  TURNS  UP          149 

"Clearing,  breaking,  fencing  and  so  on  are  expensive, 
too." 

"But  whatever  I  spend  will  make  the  place  worth  that 
much  more,  and  then  if  I  wish  to  sell  I  would  have  a 
better  chance.  People  always  prefer  to  buy  improved 
properties,  I'm  told." 

Angus  had  neither  the  heart  nor  the  nerve  to  tell  her 
the  truth.  Everything  went  to  show  that  her  father 
had  been  deliberately  stung  by  Godfrey  French.  Never 
in  the  world  would  he  have  paid  ten  dollars  of  his  own 
money  for  such  a  property.  Had  he  paid  ten  dollars  of 
Winton's  money?  Angus  doubted  it.  In  plain  lan- 
guage, his  thought  was  that  French  had  paid  about  three 
dollars  an  acre,  and  either  pocketed  the  difference  or 
split  it  with  the  seller. 

"What  does  your  uncle  think  about  it?"  he  asked. 

"He  doesn't  want  me  to  try  ranching.  He  says  the 
place  is  increasing  in  value  anyway,  and  that  I  should 
not  be  in  a  hurry  to  sell." 

Naturally,  thought  Angus,  that  would  be  French's 
advice.  Perhaps  he  had  had  the  handling  of  the  prop- 
erty, and  Braden  had  been  acting  for  him  when  trying 
to  sell  to  Chetwood.  If  that  sale  had  gone  through, 
half  the  property  would  have  been  sold  for  what  had 
been  paid  for  the  whole,  and  the  remainder,  worthless 
or  not,  would  have  been  velvet.  But  as  it  was  French 
was  in  a  tight  box,  and  the  only  thing  he  could  do  was 
to  advise  the  girl  to  let  the  place  alone,  and  hope  that 
nothing  would  occur  to  arouse  her  suspicions.  Angus 
half  wished  for  her  sake  that  he  had  not  blocked  the  sale 
to  Chetwood. 

"You  see,"  she  said,  "I  have  to  do  something  for  a 
living.  I  haven't  enough  to  keep  me  in  idleness,  and 
anyway  I  don't  want  to  be  idle.  But  I  didn't  mean 


1 5o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

to  bother  you  with  my  worries.  I  don't  know  why  it  is, 
but  I  find  myself  talking  to  you  just  as  frankly  as  when 
I  was  the  little,  lost  girl  and  you  were  the  big  boy.  Per- 
haps I  am  a  little  lost,  still.  You — you  seem  comforting, 
somehow."  She  considered  for  a  moment.  "Perhaps 
it's  the  bigness  of  you.  But  I  don't  talk  to  Gavin  as  I 
do  to  you,  and  I  know  him  much  better.  Why  is  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  but  I'm  glad  of  it,"  Angus  told  her. 
"I  want  to  help  you  if  I  can." 

"Now,  I  believe  that's  why,"  she  said.  "You  want 
to  help  folks  who  need  it.  That's  the  secret  of  it." 

"Nothing  of  the  sort,"  Angus  told  her.  Suddenly  he 
realized  that  the  sun  was  low  above  the  western  ranges 
and  that  the  early  fall  evening  was  coming.  "We'll 
have  to  be  moving  if  we're  to  get  home  by  dark,"  he 
said.  "To-morrow  I'll  skin  out  the  bear." 

"Oh — my  pony!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  never  thought 
of  him." 

"No  use  looking  for  him.  Likely  he  headed  for 
home.  You'll  ride  my  horse." 

"And  let  you  walk?     Indeed,  no!" 

"Of  course  you  will." 

"But  I  won't.     You're  hurt—" 

"Not  a  bit,"  Angus  lied  cheerfully. 

"Yes,  you  are.  There,  you  see,  you're  almost  too 
stiff  to  walk.  I  won't  have  it,  Angus,  really  I  won't." 

Angus  did  not  argue  the  point  further.  He  was 
accustomed  to  having  his  own  way  with  girls,  or  at  least 
"with  Jean.  He  was  sore  and  stiff,  and  when  he  first 
moved  a  sharp  pain  in  his  side  made  him  catch  his 
"breath,  but  he  knew  that  the  best  cure  for  stiffness  is 
movement.  They  crossed  the  creek  and  he  saddled 
Chief,  and  without  a  word  began  to  take  up  the  stirrups. 

"Angus,"  said  Faith  Winton,  "I  meant  what  I  told 


FAITH  WINTON  TURNS  UP  151 

you.  I  rode  your  pony  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  little, 
lost  girl — " 

"What  are  you  now?" 

"A  pedestrian,"  she  said  with  determination. 

"Now,  see,"  Angus  urged.  "It's  over  five  miles. 
"Your  shoes  would  be  cut  to  pieces  on  the  rocks,  and 
you'd  be  tired  out.  So  you're  going  to  ride." 

"I'm  not,  Angus !    What  are  you —     Oh !" 

For  Angus,  finding  that  argument  was  a  waste  of  time 
had  picked  her  up  and  put  her  in  the  saddle.  Thence 
she  stared  down  at  him,  and  now  there  was  no  lack  of 
color  in  her  cheeks. 

"Angus  Mackay!     What — what  do  you  mean?" 

"You  are  going  to  ride,"  Angus  told  her  with  finality, 
"and  that  is  all  there  is  to  it." 

"I'm  not  used  to  being  thrown  about  like  a  sack  of 
oats!"  she  flashed,  and  would  have  dismounted,  but  he 
stopped  her.  "How  dare  you !"  she  cried.  "Let  me 
down!  Take  your  hands  off  me,  Angus  Mackay!" 

"Then  behave  sensibly!"  said  Angus. 

"Sensibly!    My  heavens!  do  you  think  I'm  a  child?'* 

"A  child  would  be  glad  to  ride." 

"Do  you  think  you  can  make  me  do  things  merely 
because  you're  stronger?" 

"Yes,"  Angus  told  her  flatly,  "some  things.  This, 
for  one." 

"Admitting  that — you're  brutal !" 

"And  admitting  that,"  Angus  returned,  "will  you 
act  like  a  sensible  girl?" 

For  a  moment  she  frowned  at  him,  her  eyes  stormy, 
dark  with  anger.  And  then,  slowly,  she  bent  low  over 
the  saddle  horn,  and  turned  her  face  away,  while  a  sob 
shook  her  slight  figure.  At  which  awful  spectacle 
Angus'  resolution  suddenly  melted  to  contrition. 


152        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Don't  do  that !"  he  pleaded.  "Don't  cry.  I  didn't 
mean  it.  Come  on  and  walk.  Walk  all  you  like. 
Walk  a  lot.  I'll  help  you  down." 

She  turned  her  face  to  him  and  he  gasped;  for  in  place 
of  tears  there  was  laughter,  mocking  laughter. 

"You — you  fraud!"  he  exclaimed. 

"You — you  bluff!"  she  retorted.  "This  was  one  of 
the  things  you  could  make  me  do  because  you  were 
stronger,  was  it?  Oh,  Angus  Mackay,  what  a  soft  heart 
you  have  in  that  big  body !" 

"It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  made  you  walk!"  he 
told  her  indignantly. 

"Yes,  wouldn't  it?  But  you  won't.  I'll  ride — if  you'll 
promise  to  tell  me  if  you  get  tired." 

And  so  they  went  down  the  old  tote  road  in  the  wan 
light  of  the  fall  sunset. 

"It's  exactly  like  that  day  so  many  years  ago,"  she 
said. 

But  Angus,  though  he  agreed  with  her,  was  privately 
conscious  of  a  vast  difference.  On  that  far-away  day 
he  had  considered  the  little,  lost  girl  a  nuisance  and  an 
imposition.  Now  he  felt  a  strange,  warm  glow  and 
thrill  as  he  walked  beside  her,  and  a  sense  of  content- 
ment strange  to  him.  He  was  conscious  of  this  feeling. 
But,  quite  honestly,  he  attributed  it  to  the  fact  that  he 
had  just  got  his  first  grizzly,  and  what  was  more,  cen- 
tered him,  charging,  with  every  shot;  which,  as  he 
looked  at  it,  ought  to  be  a  source  of  satisfaction  to  any 
properly  constituted  man,  and  adequately  explained  the 
sense  of  contentment  aforesaid. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

A  TALK  WITH  JUDGE  RILEY 

DR.    WILKES    investigated   the   naked   torso    of 
Angus  Mackay  with  skilled  fingers. 
"Two  ribs  cracked,"  he  announced,  "and  you're 
lucky  at  that,  young  man.    The  scalp  wound  is  nothing. 
The  ribs  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  weeks,  if  you  give  them 
a  chance.    Mind,  you,  Angus,  no  hard  riding,  no  lifting; 
move  gently  and  rest  all  you  can." 

"But  the  fall  work — "  Angus  began.  The  doctor 
cut  him  short. 

"Work!"  he  exploded  irritably.  "There's  that  word 
again.  By  heaven,  you  all  say  it!  It's  'I  can't  go 
away,  doc,  I  can't  take  a  holiday,  I  can't  rest.  I've 
got  to  work.'  Lord  knows  how  many  times  I've  heard 
it,  and  from  men  who  wouldn't  work  a  sick  or  lame 
horse  on  a  bet.  You'd  think  health  was  the  least  impor- 
tant thing  on  earth,  something  to  be  fixed  up  in  a  day  or 
two  with  a  Blaud's  pill.  Work  is  a  fine  thing  to  keep 
folks  out  of  mischief,  but  it  isn't  the  chief  end  of  man, 
and  it  isn't  a  damned  fetich  that  demands  human  sac- 
rifice. Who'll  do  your  work  when  you're  dead?"  He 
glared  at  Angus  ferociously  beneath  shaggy,  red-and- 
gray  brows. 

"Well,  I  won't  worry  about  that,"  Angus  laughed. 
"I  hope  it's  a  long  way  off." 

"It  missed  your  head  by  about  an  inch  yesterday," 
Wilkes  told  him.  "There  you  stand,  over  six  feet,  and 
nearly  two  hundred  pounds  of  as  fine  bone  and  sinew  and 
flesh  and  blood  as  I've  ever  seen,  every  organ  of  you, 

153 


154        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

as  far  as  I  can  tell,  as  sound  as  clear  pine.  And  you 
may  be  good  for  seventy  years  more — or  seventy  hours. 
A  long  way  off !  Your  horse  steps  in  a  hole,  or  a  team 
bolts  and  you  happen  to  fall  wrong,  or  a  little  drop  of 
blood  clots  somewhere.  And  puff  1  away  you  go  like  a 
pinch  of  dust  on  the  trail,  which  is  exactly  what  you 
are.  A  long  way  off !  Of  all  the  blasted  but  blessed 
cocksureness  of  youth !"  And  he  grumbled  and  growled 
as  he  strapped  up  the  injured  side. 

But  Angus  paid  little  attention  to  the  doctor's  homily. 
From  the  latter's  office  he  went  to  see  Judge  Riley  who, 
much  to  everybody's  surprise,  had  cut  his  drinking  down 
if  not  out,  and  in  consequence  was  much  busier  than 
of  old.  Before  him  Angus  laid  the  puzzle  of  Faith 
Winton's  property,  Godfrey  French's  connection  there- 
with, and  Braden's  attempt  to  sell  part  of  it. 

"There  may  be  a  perfectly  good  explanation,"  said 
the  lawyer.  "For  instance,  there  may  have  been  other 
properties  or  other  transactions  involved.  Then  as  to 
Braden's  attempt  to  sell  to  Chetwood,  he  may  have  been 
acting  for  French,  who  may  be  Winton's  executor.  In 
any  event,  if  half  of  this  land  could  be  sold  for  as  much 
as  was  paid  for  the  whole,  nobody  but  the  purchaser 
would  be  apt  to  make  subsequent  objection." 

"But  if  French  paid  only  about  three  dollars  for  the 
land  and  split  the  difference  with  somebody,  couldn't 
Miss  Winton  claim  the  difference?" 

"Undoubtedly.  But  you  have  no  evidence  of  that. 
If  you  like,  I'll  search  the  title  and  find  out  who  sold 
the  land  and  what  consideration  is  stated  in  the  convey- 
ance to  Winton.  Drop  in  some  time  next  week." 

Angus  waited  the  week  with  impatience.  Convinced 
that  there  had  been  crooked  work  somewhere,  he  was 
anxious  to  get  at  the  facts.  Also  he  chafed  at  the 


A  TALK  WITH  JUDGE  RILEY         155 

comparative  inactivity  imposed  on  him  by  his  injured 
ribs. 

"Well,"  said  the  judge,  when  Angus  sought  him 
again,  "I  haven't  found  out  very  much.  But  Braden 
apparently  owns  this  property." 

"Braden !"  Angus  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  he  is  the  registered  owner  of  a  large  block  of 
land  which  seems  to  include  this.  So  far  as  most  of  the 
land  is  concerned,  he  is  the  original  grantee.  As  to 
the  Tetreau  land,  Tetreau  was  the  original  grantee  of 
that.  Five  hundred  acres  was  granted  to  Tetreau,  and 
sold  by  him  to  Braden  for  an  expressed  monetary  con- 
sideration of  one  thousand  dollars  and  certain  other 
considerations  not  specified.  When  he  acquired  that 
land  from  Tetreau,  Braden  then  had  a  compact  block, 
and  apparently  he  has  it  still." 

"But  there  must  be  a  deed  to  Winton." 

"If  so  it  isn't  registered.  Braden  can  convey  and 
give  a  good  registered  title.  There  is  nothing  to  show 
any  interest  of  Winton's.  Are  you  sure  this  is  the 
property  his  daughter  meant?" 

"From  her  description,  it  can't  be  any  other." 

"Then  probably  there  is  an  unregistered  conveyance 
from  Braden  to  Winton,  or  to  French  as  the  latter's 
trustee.  As  to  the  price  paid,  it  may  have  been  high, 
but  it  does  not  prove  nor  even  raise  the  presumption  of 
fraud.  You  can't  tell  the  girl  your  suspicions,  when 
they  are  mere  suspicions,  especially  while  she  is  under 
French's  roof." 

"I  believe  both  Braden  and  French  are  crooks.  I 
never  liked  Braden,  but  up  to  a  little  while  ago,  I 
thought  he  was  straight.  And  I  always  thought  old 
French  was  a  gentleman." 

"So  he  is." 


156        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Not  if  he  is  a  crook." 

"Nonsense!"  the  judge  returned.  "Gentlemen  have 
been  pirates,  outlaws  and  highwaymen.  A  gentleman 
may  be  a  blackguard,  just  as  a  well-bred  dog  may  be  a 
sheep-killer,  or  run  wild  with  wolves.  It's  one  word, 
not  two.  It's  a  name  for  a  breed,  not  a  descriptive 
term  for  qualities  such  as  honesty,  courtesy  or  the  like." 

"If  a  man  has  those  qualities,  isn't  he  a  gentleman?" 

"No,"  said  the  judge,  "though  he  may  be  something 
a  good  deal  better.  I'm  as  democratic  as  they  make 
'em,  but  it  is  an  undoubted  fact  that  there  are  strains 
of  men,  just  as  there  are  strains  of  animals.  Con- 
sidered as  a  strain  of  mankind,  a  gentleman  is  a  gentle- 
man, no  matter  how  big  a  rascal  he  is.  The  Frenches 
are  all  gentlemen — that  is,  all  but  Blake." 

"Why  not  Blake,  if  it  is  a  breed?" 

"God  knows,"  the  judge  replied.  "Blake  is  a  full 
brother  to  the  rest,  but  he's  not  the  same  breed.  He's  a 
throwback  to  something  that  crept  in  somehow,  maybe 
a  century  or  so  ago,  when  nobody  was  looking.  He  has 
the  body,  but  not  the  heart.  He  is  a  cur,  while  the  rest 
are — wolves."  He  drummed  on  his  blotter.  "In  con- 
fidence, Angus,  I  am  going  to  tell  you  one  or  two  things : 
The  first  is  that  the  Frenches  have  little  or  no  money 
left.  They  have  been  going  down  hill  steadily  for  years. 
This  horse  racing  and  gambling  is  not  amusement,  but 
their  living.  Their  ranch  is  mortgaged  for  all  it  will 
stand,  and  more.  So  you  see,  it's  not  likely  French  could 
repay  the  girl,  even  if  we  proved  he  cheated  Winton. 

"And  now  for  Braden:"  He  paused  for  a  moment, 
and  his  bushy  brows  drew  down.  "If  there  is  one  thing 
I  despise,"  he  said  with  emphasis,  "it  is  a  hypocrite. 
More  repulsive  to  me  than  even  sordid  crime  is  hyp- 
ocrisy, snivelling  righteousness,  a  lip-and-broadcloth  ser- 


A  TALK  WITH  JUDGE  RILEY         157 

vice  of  the  Almighty,  the  broad  phylacteries  of  the 
Pharisee.  All  my  life  I  have  hated  such  things.  And 
Braden,  mark  you,  is  a  hypocrite.  Outwardly,  he  is 
full  of  good  works.  Your  father  was  deceived  in  him, 
and  I  told  him  so  when  he  would  have  made  Braden 
his  executor,  but  I  had  merely  my  own  opinion. 

"Well,  when  your  father  died,  Braden  conceived  an 
ingenious  plan  to  get  hold  of  the  ranch,  knowing  that 
it  would  increase  in  value  very  much,  eventually.  The 
first  step  was  to  get  you  children  off  it,  to  put  somebody 
else  on,  to  allow  the  rent  to  get  into  arrears,  to  let  the 
place  run  down  a  little.  With  the  accumulating  inter- 
est on  the  mortgage,  ownership  would  involve  a  heavy 
financial  burden.  Then  a  straw  man  would  have  made 
an  offer  for  the  place,  d'ye  understand  me  ?  And  to  get 
money  for  your  education  and  maintenance  Braden 
would  have  accepted,  and  to  keep  his  skirts  clean  he 
would  have  got  a  court  order  approving  the  sale.  After- 
ward the  straw  man  would  have  transferred  to  Braden. 
Is  that  clear  to  you?" 

Angus  nodded,  amazed. 

"Also  absence  from  the  place  would  have  weaned 
you  youngsters  away  from  it,"  the  judge  continued. 
"When  you  came  to  me  for  advice  I  went  to  Braden 
and  read  his  mind  to  him,  and  his  face  told  me  I  had 
read  it  aright.  Since  then  he  has  hated  me  for  knowing 
him  for  what  he  knows  himself  to  be.  So,  in  course 
of  time,  he  laid  a  trap  for  me  with  a  pretended  client 
and  monies  for  a  certain  investment.  The  idea  was 
that  the  man  with  whom  I  was  to  invest  the  monies  was 
to  deny  it,  and  they  thought  they  had  it  arranged  so  that 
I  could  not  produce  evidence  of  what  had  become  of  it. 
But  they  were  wrong.  I  had  evidence,  and  with  a  very 
little  more  I'd  have  had  a  clear  case  of  conspiracy 


158        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

against  them.  However,  I  fell  short  of  that  and  let  it 
go.  But  one  thing  it  did  for  me :  It  showed  me  that  I 
needed  a  clear  head,  and  it  gave  me  the  will  to  fight 
the  habit  that  had  a  grip  on  me.  So  there's  information 
in  confidence  for  you,  Angus.  Now  Braden  and  French 
are  working  together.  French  and  his  sons  get  the  con- 
fidence of  young  fellows  with  more  money  than  experi- 
ence, steer  them  to  Braden  who  sells  them  land,  and  the 
commissions  are  split.  Perhaps  that  is  what  happened  in 
the  Winton  case.  Only  we  can't  prove  it." 

"No,"  Angus  admitted.  For  the  first  time  he  told  the 
judge  of  the  money  he  had  borrowed  from  Braden. 
The  old  jurist  whistled  softly. 

"What  with  that  and  the  mortgage  arrears,  you  are 
not  in  good  shape,  my  boy.  If  I  were  you,  I  should 
make  every  effort  to  get  clear  as  soon  as  possible." 

"The  hail  hit  me  badly,  but  next  year,  with  a  good 
crop  and  all  the  new  land  I  have  broken,  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  make  a  good  payment.  Then  you  think  nothing 
can  be  done  to  help  Miss  Winton  ?" 

"Braden  tried  once  to  find  a  purchaser  for  part  of 
it,  and  he  may  try  again."  The  judge's  eyes  twinkled. 
"In  that  case  would  you  consider  it  your  duty  to  warn 
the  intending  purchaser?" 

Angus  grinned,  flushing  a  little.  "If  it  would  help 
Miss  Winton  I  would  consider  it  my  duty  to  mind  my 
own  business." 

"It  seems  to  me  about  the  only  chance  she  has  to 
get  back  part  of  the  money,"  said  the  judge.  While 
that  chance  exists,  it  is  just  as  well  to  say  nothing  to 
anybody." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A  CRISIS 

WINTER  came  with  the  going  of  the  last  brigades 
of  the  geese.     The  sloughs  and  lakes  froze, 
and  the  ground  hardened  to  iron,  ringing  hol- 
lowly beneath  hoofs,  rumbling  dully  to  wagon  wheels. 
It  was  cold,  but  there  was  no  snow  in  the  valleys,  though 
it  lay  white  well  down  the  flanks  of  the  ranges.     On  the 
benchlands  there  was  nothing  to  relieve  the  dark  gloom 
of  the  firs,  the  bareness  of  the  deciduous  trees,  the  frost- 
burnt  dead  of  the  grasses. 

Angus  had  seen  little  of  Faith  Winton.  At  the  French 
ranch  he  felt  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret.  He  had 
little  or  nothing  in  common  with  the  French  boys,  and 
certainly  nothing  with  the  young  men  who  made  the 
place  a  hang-out.  Though  old  Godfrey  French  was  polite 
enough,  Angus  felt  or  thought  he  felt  a  certain  cool 
contempt.  Kathleen  was  the  only  one  of  the  family  with 
whom  he  was  at  ease. 

He  was  now  able  to  ride,  and  help  round  up  the 
cattle  for  the  winter.  But  to  his  annoyance  there  were 
several  head  which  could  not  be  found.  Again  they  were 
steers,  beef  cattle.  As  in  the  case  of  the  others,  some 
years  before,  they  seemed  to  have  vanished  utterly.  Ren- 
nie  was  sure  they  had  been  rustled,  and  again  he  blamed 
the  Indians.  In  the  end  he  took  his  rifle  and  an  outfit, 
and  Angus  knew  that  very  little  would  escape  his 
methodical  combing.  On  top  of  his  other  hard  luck 
Angus  felt  the  loss  badly.  He  was  going  to  be  very  hard 
run  for  money.  None  too  cheerfully  he  went  at  the 
various  tasks  of  snugging  up  for  the  winter. 

159 


160         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

In  these  he  had  little  or  no  assistance  from  Turkey. 
The  youngster  was  absent  more  than  ever,  and  one  morn- 
ing when,  instead  of  helping  with  fencing,  he  led  out  his 
mare  saddled,  Angus  ventured  remonstrance. 

"There  are  a  whole  lot  of  things  to  do,"  he  observed. 

"No  rush,"  Turkey  returned.    "Let  'em  wait." 

"I  am  not  waiting." 

"Well,  I  am,"  Turkey  said,  his  tone  suddenly  trucu- 
lent. I've  worked  all  summer  and  fall,  and  I  want  some 
fun.  I'm  going  to  have  it,  too." 

"Perhaps  I  want  some  myself,"  Angus  suggested, 
holding  his  temper. 

"Oh,  you  I"  Turkey's  voice  held  careless  scorn  of 
Angus'  desire  for  recreation.  "Well,  if  you  want  it,  go 
and  get  it.  Nobody's  stopping  you.  And  nobody's 
going  to  stop  me." 

Angus  shut  his  lips  grimly  over  the  words  which  rose 
to  them.  He  saw  his  brother  ride  away,  defiance  in 
the  set  of  his  shoulders,  and  he  turned  to  his  work,  bit- 
terness in  his  heart.  That,  he  reflected  sourly,  was  what 
he  got  for  sticking  to  work.  He  was  the  steady,  reliable 
old  horse.  Nobody  suspected  him  of  a  longing  for  other 
things.  A  working  machine,  that's  what  he  was.  For 
Jean  he  did  not  mind,  but  for  Turkey !  Why,  in  weeks 
the  boy  had  made  a  mere  bluff  at  working,  for  months 
he  had  slacked.  Instead  of  doing  a  man's  work  as  he 
should,  he  had  been  barely  earning  his  grub.  In  sudden 
anger  Angus  sank  a  staple  with  a  blow  which  snapped 
the  hammer  handle  like  a  stick  of  candy.  He  threw  the 
fragment  from  him  with  a  curse.  But  the  action  and 
the  oath  did  not  relieve.  Instead  of  acting  as  a  safety 
valve,  his  self-control  slipped  by  that  much.  A  black 
mood  descended  on  him  and  persisted  through  the  day. 
That  night  he  ate  in  glum  silence,  smoked  in  silence,  and 


A  CRISIS  161 

went  to  bed  without  uttering  half  a  dozen  words  to 
Gus,  who,  Turkey  not  having  returned,  was  his  sole 
companion. 

He  slept  badly.  In  a  period  of  wakefulness  he  heard 
the  drum  hoofs  on  the  frozen  ground  and  knew  that 
Turkey  was  coming  home  at  last.  Looking  at  his  watch 
by  the  light  of  a  match  he  saw  that  it  was  nearly  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  A  nice  time  for  a  fellow  to 
come  home  who  expected  to  do  any  work  the  next  day. 
But  perhaps  Turkey  didn't  intend  to. 

Turkey  took  his  time  putting  up  his  mare.  When  he 
entered  the  house  he  tripped  over  a  chair,  coming  down 
with  a  crash.  Whereat  he  swore,  and  something  in 
his  voice  made  Angus  jump  out  of  bed  and  light  his 
lamp.  With  it  in  his  hand  he  entered  Turkey's  room. 

One  look  confirmed  his  suspicions.  Turkey  was  more 
than  half  drunk.  Angus  stared  at  him  in  angry  amaze- 
ment, and  Turkey  stared  back,  sullen  and  defiant,  the 
butt  of  a  cigarette  between  his  lips. 

'Well,"  he  said,  "what  you  lookin'  at?" 

"At  you,"  Angus  returned.     "Who  got  you  drunk?" 

"I  ain't  drunk,"  Turkey  denied.  "If  I  want  a  drink 
I  guess  I  can  take  it  without  asking  you." 

"Who  were  you  with?"  Angus  persisted. 

"None  of  your  dam'  business!"  Turkey  told  him 
flatly. 

Angus  hesitated.  He  felt  a  strong  desire  to  man- 
handle his  young  brother,  but  finally  he  decided  against 
it.  He  went  back  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  His  anger 
struggled  with  a  feeling  of  responsibility  for  Turkey. 
The  boy  must  not  be  allowed  to  make  a  fool  of  himself; 
but  he  was  difficult  to  handle.  He  realized  that  Re 
himself  was  the  last  person  from  whom  he  would  take 
advice,  but  something  had  to  be  done. 


1 62        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Puzzling  over  his  course  he  b«came  aware  that  the 
room  was  no  longer  dark.  It  was  not  the  dim  light  of 
dawn,  but  a  reddish,  reflected  glow.  With  the  realiza- 
tion he  bounded  from  his  bed  and  into  the  living  room. 
There  the  light  was  brighter,  and  through  a  window 
which  faced  the  stables  he  saw  a  shaft  of  flame  lick  high 
in  the  air. 

"Gus!"  he  shouted.     "Fire!" 

As  he  dashed  for  his  room  and  pulled  on  trousers  and 
moccasins,  he  heard  the  weight  of  Gus  hit  the  floor 
above.  Not  waiting  for  him,  he  ran  for  the  stables. 

The  stable  yard  and  corrals  were  drenched  in  a  red 
glare,  and  smoke  and  leaping  sheets  of  flame  were 
driving  with  a  bitter  south  wind.  The  stock  in  corrals 
and  sheds  was  bawling;  in  the  stable  horses  were  stamp- 
ing and  whinnying.  For  a  moment  he  thought  the 
stable  was  on  fire,  but  as  he  vaulted  a  five-foot  gate,  not 
waiting  to  open  it,  he  saw  that  it  was  not  the  stable  but 
the  great  stack  of  hay  close  to  it  and  directly  to  wind- 
ward. 

Nothing  could  save  the  stack.  The  fire  had  a  good 
hold  and  the  flame  sheets  were  leaping  and  smothering 
in  hot  smoke  with  the  noise  of  a  hundred  flapping  blan- 
kets. The  fire  and  the  sparks  were  driving  directly  at 
the  stable.  Its  walls  were  of  peeled  logs,  which  offered 
little  hold  for  fire,  but  its  roof  was  of  split  shakes  and 
its  mow  full  of  hay. 

He  threw  the  doors  wide  and  began  to  turn  the 
horses  loose.  But  frightened  by  the  glare  and  the  smoke 
and  the  roar  and  crackle  of  flames,  they  hung  back 
snorting,  cowering  in  their  stalls. 

It  was  no  time  for  half  measures.  Gus  joined  him, 
a  fiendish  figure  in  red  flannel  underclothes,  which  he 
wore  day  and  night  all  the  year  round,  for  the  big  Swede 


A  CRISIS  163 

had  waited  only  to  pull  on  a  pair  of  moccasins.  With 
whip  and  pitchfork  they  slashed  and  prodded  the  ani- 
mals out. 

"By  the  Yumpin'  Yudas!"  Gus  cried,  "Ay  tank  dae 
stable  ban  go." 

It  looked  like  it.  The  flames  were  reaching  and 
snapping  back,  and  flying  streams  of  sparks  were  now 
driving  upon  the  weather-worn,  dry  shakes.  If  the  roof 
caught,  or  if  a  vagrant  spark  reached  the  hay  with  which 
the  mow  was  filled,  nothing  could  save  it.  But  Angus 
was  not  inclined  to  lose  his  stable  without  an  effort. 

"Get  all  the  horse  blankets  and  wagon  covers,  soak 
'em,  and  throw  'em  up  to  me,"  he  ordered.  "I'm  going 
up  on  the  roof.  Help  me  with  the  ladder." 

A  ladder  hung  on  the  north  wall  of  the  stable. 
Together  they  shot  it  up.  Angus  grabbed  a  coil  of  lash 
rope  and  a  couple  of  lariats,  and  ran  up  the  ladder. 
Making  the  rope  fast  to  the  top  rung  and  taking  the 
coil  over  his  arm  he  crawled  up  the  steep  slope  of  the 
roof.  As  he  put  his  head  over  the  ridge  smoke  stung 
his  eyes  and  bit  at  his  lungs.  The  pitch  was  fairly 
bubbling  from  the  old  shakes  on  the  southern  exposure. 

Behind  him  Gus  staggered  up  the  ladder  with  an 
armful  of  dripping  horse  blankets  which  he  had  soaked 
in  the  ditch.  Angus  ripped  off  a  bit  of  loose  lining  and 
tied  it  over  his  nose  and  mouth.  Then,  taking  the  wet 
blankets  on  one  arm  and  a  turn  of  rope  around  the 
other,  he  drew  a  full  breath  of  good  air  and  went  over 
the  ridge  into  the  smoke  and  flying  red  cinders. 

Down  close  to  the  eaves  he  saw  a  little,  blue  flame 
start  and  die,  and  start  again  and  live.  He  went  down, 
his  body  at  right  angles  to  the  pitch  of  the  roof  against 
the  pull  of  the  rope,  and  spread  a  dripping  blanket  on  it. 
As  he  did  so  a  big  fluff  of  burning  hay  lit  above  him. 


1 64        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

He  extinguished  that.  Little,  creeping  lizards  of  fire 
began  to  glow,  and  he  beat  them  out  and  yelled  for  more 
blankets.  The  moisture  was  being  sucked  from  his  body, 
his  eyes  stabbed  with  pain  and  his  lungs  ached.  Sparks 
clung  to  him  and  burned  through  to  the  skin,  the  heat 
of  the  roof  struck  through  the  soles  of  his  moccasins. 
The  little,  creeping  flames,  starting  everywhere,  seemed 
personal  enemies,  and  he  beat  upon  them  with  wet 
blankets,  and  stamped  upon  them  and  croaked  curses 
at  them.  Then  Gus  was  beside  him,  a  very  welcome 
demon  in  his  red  garments,  working  like  a  maniac  and 
swearing  strange  oaths.  Together  they  kept  the  roof 
till  the  heat  lessened,  and  the  tongues  and  sheets  of  flame 
snapped  no  more  in  their  faces,  and  blackened  and  gray 
ashes  instead  of  red  cinders  powdered  them,  and  where 
Angus'  fine  stack  of  bright  hay  had  been  was  a  red  and 
glowing  heap. 

They  came  down  from  the  roof  and  drank  deeply 
from  the  running  ditch,  and  the  cold  wind  striking  their 
overheated  bodies  through  burnt  and  insufficient  cloth- 
ing, cut  to  the  bone. 

In  the  house,  changing  his  burnt  garments  for  warm 
clothes,  Angus  for  the  first  time  thought  of  his  brother 
and  looked  into  his  room.  The  boy  slept.  He  had 
known  nothing  of  the  fire. 

"By  Yimminy,  dat  kid  sleep  like  a  mudsill,"  Gus 
commented.  "Ay  holler  at  him  when  Ay  go  out,  too." 

"Let  him  sleep,"  Angus  said.  "Come  on  and  get  the 
horses  into  the  stable  again." 

He  spoke  quietly,  but  there  was  bitter  anger  in  his 
heart.  It  was  bad  enough  that  Turkey  should  lie  in 
drunken  slumber;  but  far  worse  than  that  he  was  the 
last  person  who  had  been  near  the  stable  and  stack. 
Neither  Angus  nor  Gus  had  been  out  of  the  house  for 


A  CRISIS  165 

five  or  six  hours  before  the  fire.  As  they  put  the  horses 
back  Angus  found  Turkey's  mare's  manger  full  of  hay. 
Drunk  or  sober  the  boy  would  look  after  the  animal's 
needs.  But  to  get  hay  he  had  either  to  fork  it  down 
from  the  mow  or  get  it  from  the  stack.  As  the  mow 
was  dark,  with  a  ladder  to  climb,  there  wasn't  much 
doubt  that  he  had  got  it  frpm  the  latter.  Then  at  the 
stack  he  had  either  dropped  the  butt  of  a  cigarette  or 
the  end  of  a  match.  There  was  no  doubt  in  Angus'  mind 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  fire. 

But  as  was  his  custom,  he  kept  his  thoughts  to  him- 
slef.  He  sent  Gus  to  the  house  to  get  what  sleep  he 
could,  and  he  remained  on  guard  against  chances  from 
stray  sparks. 

As  he  stared  at  the  heap  of  black  and  gray  and  red 
which  had  been  his  stack  his  anger  hardened.  In  the 
heart  of  the  heap  he  seemed  to  see  the  fields  where  the 
hay  had  grown,  green  and  tender  in  the  spring,  laced 
with  the  silver  threads  of  irrigation  waters;  and  lush  and 
high  and  waving  in  the  summer  winds,  tipped  and  tinged 
with  the  pink  and  red  of  clover  and  alfalfa  and  the  pur- 
ple bloom  of  timothy.  He  thought  of  the  labor  that 
had  gone  into  it — the  careful  irrigation,  the  mowing,  the 
raking,  the  hauling,  the  stacking — all  to  the  end  that  the 
stock  should  be  full-bellied  and  fat-clad  against  the  cold 
and  snow  that  shrinks  ill-nourished  stock  to  racks  of 
hide-tied  bone.  He  looked  ahead — two  months,  three 
— and  he  could  hear  the  hunger-bawling  of  the  cattle 
clustered  by  the  corral  bars,  and  see  them  hump-backed 
and  lean  and  shivering,  and  weak  and  dying  of  cold  and 
hunger.  He  could  see  their  eyes,  looking  to  him  for  the 
food  man  should  provide. 

Unless  he  would  see  that  picture  become  grim  reality 
he  must  buy  feed,  and  he  had  no  money  to  spare.  His 


1 66        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

straw  was  quite  insufficient  to  winter  his  stock  on.  Then 
he  had  counted  on  selling  some  of  the  hay.  It  all  meant 
that  his  debt  must  be  increased.  In  the  breath  of  the 
fire  the  fruits  of  his  hard  work  had  been  wiped  out.  As 
he  thought  of  all  these  things  he  was  filled  with  bitter- 
ness against  his  brother. 

When  da\vn  came  and  all  danger  was  over  he  went 
in  to  breakfast.  Turkey  still  slept.  Angus  let  him  slum- 
ber, and  going  to  the  workshop  went  to  work  repairing 
a  set  of  sleighs. 

He  had  worked  for  an  hour  or  more  when  Turkey 
emerged  from  the  house,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
back  hunched.  At  first  he  did  not  notice  the  absence  of 
the  stack.  When  he  did,  being  almost  at  the  stable,  he 
stopped  short,  staring  at  the  black  heap,  at  the  frozen 
blankets  and  covers  hanging  on  the  fence.  He  entered 
the  stable,  came  out  again,  and  hearing  Angus'  hammer- 
ing, made  for  the  workshop.  As  he  came  in  Angus 
saw  that  his  mouth  was  set,  his  face  flushed,  his  brow 
scowling. 

"Say — "  he  began  and  stopped.     Say — " 

"Well?"  Angus  returned,  coldly. 

"The  stack!" 

"You  can  see  for  yourself,  can't  you?" 

"Why  didn't  you  call  me?" 

"You'd  have  been  a  lot  of  use!" 

The  boy  flushed  darkly. 

"What  started  it?" 

"You  ought  to  know,"  Angus  replied,  "whether  you 
do  or  not." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Turkey  cried. 

"I  mean  that  you  started  the  fire  yourself." 

"What?"  Turkey  exclaimed.  "I  didn't!  What  do 
you  take  me  for?" 


A  CRISIS  167 

"Where  did  you  get  the  hay  to  fill  Dolly's  manger?" 

"From  the  stack,"  Turkey  admitted. 

"I  thought  so.  And  you  dropped  a  butt  or  a  match. 
Nobody  else  had  been  near  there  for  hours." 

"I  didn't.  I  didn't  light  a  cigarette  till  after  I  came 
out  of  the  stable." 

"I  don't  think  you  know  what  you  did.  The  stack, 
is  gone.  We  have  to  buy  feed  now,  and  we  haven't 
the  money  to  pay  for  it." 

"That's  not  my  fault,"  Turkey  asseverated.  "I  won't 
be  blamed  for  what  I  didn't  do." 

"No,"  Angus  returned  grimly,  "but  for  what  you  did 
do."  . 

"If  you  say  I  started  that  fire  you're  a  liar!'* 

Turkey  flared. 

Angus  looked  at  him  with  narrowing  eyes. 

"You  had  better  go  slow,  Turkey,"  he  warned.  "U 
don't  feel  like  taking  much  from  anybody  this  morning. 
And  I'll  take  less  from  you  than  anybody." 

"Then  don't  say  I  started  that  fire!"  Turkey  cried 
"The  hay  was  mine  as  well  as  yours.  You  act  as  if 
you  were  boss  here,  and  I  won't  stand  for  it  any  longer." 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  Angus  would  have  let 
that  go.  But  now  he  was  sore  and  worried  and  angry. 
He  had  worked  hard,  denied  himself  a  good  deal  to  hold 
the  ranch  together  and  make  a  living  for  them  all.  It 
seemed  that  a  show-down  had  to  come  and  he  was  ready 
for  it. 

"We  may  as  well  settle  this  now,"  he  said.  "I  am 
boss.  I  mean  to  stay  boss,  and  while  you're  on  this 
ranch  you'll  toe  the  mark  after  this,  understand?" 

"Is  that  so?"  Turkey  sneered. 

"It  is  so,"  Angus  repeated.  "Let  me  tell  you  some- 
thing: I've  given  you  the  easy  end  right  along,  and 


1 68        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

you  haven't  held  up  even  that.  You've  shirked  and 
loafed  every  chance  you've  had.  This  has  got  to  stop. 
And  there  will  be  no  more  of  this  coming  in  at  all  hours 
of  night." 

"I'll  come  in  when  I  like  and  go  where  I  like,"  Turkey 
declared  defiantly,  "and  I'd  like  to  see  you  stop  me." 

"You  will  see  it,"  Angus  told  him  grimly.  "You 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself.  You've  burnt  up  our 
stack — " 

"You're  a  liar!"  Turkey  cried  hotly.  "Don't  you 
tell  me  that  again!" 

"Tell  you  again!"  Angus  said  contemptuously.  "I'll 
not  only  tell  you  again,  but  for  two  pins  I'd  hand  you 
something  to  make  you  remember  it." 

"Then  fly  at  it!"  Turkey  cried,  and  struck  him  in 
the  face. 

For  an  instant  Angus  was  so  surprised  that  he  did 
nothing  at  all.  Then,  taking  another  blow,  he  caught 
his  brother  by  wrist  and  shoulder  and  slammed  him 
back  against  the  wall  with  a  force  which  shook  the 
frame  building.  He  was  white-hot  with  anger,  and  all 
that  restrained  him  was  fear — fear  that  if  he  once  lost 
grip  of  himself  he  would  go  too  far.  As  he  held  the 
boy  pinned  and  helpless  he  fought  his  fight  and  won  it. 
His  grip  relaxed  and  he  stepped  back. 

"Don't  ever  do  that  again,  Turkey,"  he  said  quietly. 

Turkey,  freed,  stared  at  him.  "I  called  you  a  liar 
and  hit  you  twice." 

"I  know  it,"  Angus  returned  impatiently.  "And  I 
could  beat  you  to  a  froth,  and  you  know  it.  I  don't 
want  to  start — the  way  I'm  feeling.  That's  all." 

"Then  I'm  sorry  I  hit  you,"  Turkey  conceded.  "But 
all  the  same,  I  didn't  fire  the  stack." 

"We  won't  talk  about  it." 


A  CRISIS  169 

"Yes,  we  will.     If  you  think  I  did,  I'm  pulling  out." 

"You'll  do  as  you  please,"  Angus  said  coldly.  "You'll 
come  back  mighty  soon." 

"Don't  fool  yourself,"  Turkey  retorted.  "I'm  sick 
of  this  dam'  place,  and  working  day  in  and  day  out." 

"I've  told  you  what  I  think  of  your  work.  If  you're 
sick  of  it  I'm  just  as  sick  of  coddling  you  along.  Can't 
you  get  it  through  your  head  that  you're  almost  a  man?" 

"Yes,"  Turkey  returned,  "and  I'm  going  where  I'll 
be  treated  like  one." 

"Then  you'll  have  to  change  a  lot,"  Angus  informed 
him.  "When  you  behave  like  one  you'll  be  treated  like 
one,  here  or  anywhere  else.  Till  you  do  that,  you 
won't.  And  here  it  is  cold  for  you,  Turkey,  with  no 
trimmings:  You  may  go  to  the  devil  if  you  like;  but 
you  can't  stay  on  this  ranch  and  do  it,  because  I  won't 
stand  for  it." 

And  so,  at  last,  the  issue  between  the  brothers,  so  long- 
pending,  lay  clear  and  sharply  defined.  There  was  no 
middle  course.  For  a  long  minute  they  looked  eacli 
other  in  the  face.  Then  said  Turkey: 

"You  and  the  ranch  can  go  to  hell!" 

He  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  to  the  house  whence, 
a  few  minutes  later,  he  emerged  wearing  wool  chaps  and 
a  heavy  mackinaw.  In  one  hand  he  carried  his  pet 
rifle;  in  the  other  a  canvas  warbag.  He  went  into  the 
stable  and  presently  led  out  his  mare,  saddled.  Then 
he  jogged  away  without  a  glance  in  Angus'  direction. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES 

ON  Christmas  Day,  Angus  and  Rennie  found  them- 
selves alone  on  the  ranch.  Gus  had  gone  to 
town,  which  meant  that  he  would  be  drunk  for 
some  days.  Turkey  had  not  returned  since  he  rode 
away,  nor  had  Angus  seen  him,  though  he  had  learned 
that  he  was  helping  Garland  to  round  up  a  drive  or  two 
of  cattle  and  would  probably  feed  a  bunch  through  the 
winter  for  a  grubstake. 

The  weather  had  turned  mild.  The  day  was  warm 
as  October,  and  the  frost  was  coming  out  of  the  ground, 
for  still  there  was  no  snow.  Rennie  was  busy  with 
preparations  for  an  elaborate  night  dinner,  but  Angus 
was  restless. 

"I  think  I'll  go  out  and  look  for  that  old  buckskin 
cayuse,"  he  said. 

"He  ain't  worth  lookin'  for,"  Rennie  returned;  "but 
if  you  go,  you  better  pack  that  old  buffler  coat." 

But  Angus  did  not  take  the  old  buffalo  riding  coat 
which  had  been  his  father's.  He  got  into  a  pair  of 
leather  chaps  and  tied  a  mackinaw  on  the  saddle. 

The  big  horse  wanted  to  go,  and  Angus  let  him. 
When  he  left  the  road  it  was  to  follow  cattle  trails,  on 
which  Chief  sailed  smoothly.  Now  and  then  he  pulled 
up  to  listen  for  bells,  but  the  buckskin  was  merely  an 
excuse.  He  was  an  old  sinner,  with  a  habit  of  staying 
out  as  long  as  he  could  rustle  feed.  When  Angus 
ran  across  him  at  last,  late  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  with 
a  band  of  half-wild,  disreputable  friends,  from  whom 

170 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES     171 

he  had  no  intention  of  being  separated.  They  knew 
every  foot  of  every  trail  in  a  badly  broken  country,  and 
Chief,  though  sure-footed,  was  not  a  stock  horse.  The 
continued  twists  and  turns  and  brush  worried  him.  He 
could  not  use  his  speed,  and  not  knowing  exactly  what 
was  expected  of  him,  began  to  fret.  After  an  hour  of 
fruitless  chase  Angus  gave  it  up  and  looked  around  to 
get  his  bearings. 

He  found  himself  up  under  a  mountain  in  a  rough 
country  some  fifteen  miles  from  home.  The  sun  was 
gone;  and  all  over  the  north  and  west  and  overhead  the 
sky  was  blue-black,  trimmed  with  dirty  gray.  As  he 
sat  breathing  Chief  he  could  'hear  a  far-off  straining 
and  sighing.  A  gust  of  cold  wind  drove  past,  and  borne 
with  it  were  white  flakes. 

Angus  needed  nobody  to  interpret  these  signs,  and  he 
cursed  the  buckskin  and  his  own  carelessness  in  neglect- 
ing to  watch  sun  and  sky.  Real  winter  was  opening 
with  a  blizzard,  and  from  all  indications  it  was  going 
to  be  the  real  thing. 

In  five  minutes  the  snowflakes  had  become  a  white 
blur.  He  could  not  see  fifty  yards  ahead.  Trails  van- 
ished. Landmarks  were  invisible.  The  air  was  full  of 
drifting  white.  It  was  as  if  one  had  suddenly  gone 
nearly  blind,  unable  to  see  beyond  a  short  radius.  No 
man  could  hold  a  course  with  certainty.  Constantly 
it  grew  colder,  and  the  light  began  to  fail. 

Riding  fast  in  the  growing  darkness  was  impossible. 
The  cold  began  to  nip  his  fingers  through  his  light  buck- 
skin gloves,  and  his  toes,  for  he  was  wearing  leather 
boots  and  but  a  single  pair  of  socks.  He  steered  a 
general  down-hill  course  which  he  knew  in  time  must 
intersect  a  wagon  trail  which  led  past  the  French  ranch 
and  thence  home.  The  trouble  was  that  in  the  dark- 


172        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

ness  he  might  cross  it.  In  that  event  it  would  be  a  case 
of  spending  the  night  out. 

It  grew  utterly  dark,  save  for  a  certain  dim  light 
which  the  snow  seemed  to  hold.  Warned  by  a  growing 
numbness  in  his  feet  Angus  dismounted  and  stamped 
the  blood  back  into  them.  He  decided  that  it  must  be 
below  zero.  On  the  brows  of  the  benches  the  wind  was 
bitter. 

Just  as  he  decided  that  he  must  have  passed  it,  he 
came  on  the  wagon  trail.  He  mounted  and  gave  Chief 
his  head.  But  once  more  his  feet  began  to  numb.  Again 
he  got  down  and  stamped  the  circulation  going,  but  as 
soon  as  he  began  to  ride  again  they  numbed.  To  take 
off  boots  and  rub  was  out  of  the  question,  so  he  sent 
Chief  sailing  into  the  blinding  storm,  trusting  to  luck  to 
keep  on  the  road. 

After  several  miles  of  blind  riding  he  saw  the  far 
flicker  of  a  light  which  he  knew  must  come  from  the 
French  ranch.  He  had  no  wish  to  intrude  on  Christmas 
night,  but  he  knew  that  unless  he  was  to  have  badly 
frozen  feet  he  must  get  to  shelter  at  once.  He  struck  the 
fence,  followed  it  to  the  gate,  and  turned  in. 

The  house,  when  he  got  close  enough  to  see  through 
the  driving  snow,  was  brightly  lighted  behind  drawn 
blinds.  The  chords  of  a  piano  came  to  him,  accom- 
panying a  strong,  ringing  baritone,  and  as  he  passed 
beneath  the  window  the  old,  rousing,  hunting  chorus  of 
"John  Peel"  crashed  out. 

A  devil  of  a  time  to  butt  in,  Angus  reflected  grimly, 
as  he  led  Chief  under  the  partial  shelter  of  the  house. 
No  doubt  there  was  a  Christmas  party  on.  However, 
it  was  no  night  to  indulge  in  pride  or  shyness. 

He  could  not  leave  Chief  out  in  the  storm,  and  an 
attempt  to  stable  him  himself  would  probably  mean  a 


173 

battle  with  the  dogs  which  slept  in  the  stables.  He 
banged  on  the  door,  and  as  no  one  answered  stepped 
into  the  hall.  After  the  temperature  outside  it  seemed 
tropical,  friendly  with  the  smell  of  warmth  and  good 
tobacco.  Being  in  a  hurry,  he  did  not  stand  on  cere- 
mony, but  opened  the  door  to  his  left  just  as  the  last 
notes  of  "John  Peel"  died.  For  a  moment  he  blinked 
in  the  light  like  a  storm-driven  night  bird. 

There  were  nearly  a  dozen  men  besides  the  Frenches, 
and  among  them  he  recognized  Chetwood.  Kathleen 
was  swinging  around  from  the  piano,  laughing  up  at  the 
singers.  Tobacco  smoke  eddied  blue  around  the  hang- 
ing lamps.  A  couple  of  card  tables  were  going.  After 
the  hours  of  cold  and  darkness  and  the  sting  of  the  wind- 
driven  snow,  it  seemed  to  Angus  extraordinarily  warm 
and  cosy  and  comforting. 

Kathleen  was  the  first  to  catch  sight  of  the  snow- 
plastered  apparition  in  the  doorway. 

"Why,  Angus !"  she  exclaimed,  springing  to  her  feet. 

"I'm  sorry  to  bother  you,"  Angus  said,  "but  I  got 
caught  back  on  the  range,  and  my  feet  are  touched  a 
little.  If  I  can  put  up  my  horse — " 

But  Gavin  French  rose  from  his  card  game. 

"Larry  will  look  after  your  horse.  You  come  along 
with  me  out  of  this  heat." 

Angus  stumped  after  the  blond  giant  down  the  hall 
and  into  a  back  kitchen,  where  he  unlaced  his  boots 
while  Gavin  brought  in  a  dishpan  of  snow. 

"Toes  and  heels,"  the  big  man  observed  as  he  rubbed 
briskly.  "It's  no  night  for  leather  boots.  It's  close  to 
fifteen  below  now,  and  a  wind  with  it.  Feel  the  blood 
starting  yet?" 

Angus  felt  the  welcome  tingle  of  returning  circula- 
tion and  continued  the  rubbing  himself,  while  Gavin 


i74        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

brought  him  his  own  moccasins  and  a  pair  of  heavy 
woolen  socks.  As  he  was  putting  them  on  Kathleen 
entered. 

"If  you  were  caught  on  the  range  you  haven't  had 
anything  to  eat.  I've  got  something  ready  in  the  dining 
room.  You  can  go  back  to  your  game,  Gan.  I'll  look 
after  him." 

"Don't  bother  about  me,"  Angus  said. 

"I'm  not.     Come  along  and  eat." 

He  followed  her  into  the  dining  room  where  the  table 
was  spread  with  a  substantial  cold  meal.  She  sat  down 
with  him. 

"Now,  see  here,"  he  said,  "this  is  not  right.  I'm 
taking  you  away  from  your  guests — " 

"You're  one  of  them,"  she  laughed. 

"An  unbidden  one." 

"But  a  very  welcome  one.     Don't  be  silly." 

Angus  ate  and  drank,  and  the  food  and  hot  coffee 
warmed  him  through. 

"And  now,"  said  Kathleen,  "we'll  join  the  festive 
throng." 

But  Angus  balked.  He  was  not  dressed  for  such 
things.  He  preferred  to  stay  out  in  the  kitchen." 

"Angus  Mackay,  you  make  me  tired!"  Kathleen  told 
him.  "What  do  I  care  about  your  clothes  ?  You're  still 
thinking  of  yourself  as  an  unbidden  guest,  after  I've 
told  you  you're  more  than  welcome.  I'm  not  going  to 
let  you  sit  out  in  the  kitchen  like  an  Indian.  C@me 
along,  now,  like  a  good  boy." 

As  there  was  no  way  out  of  it,  Angus  followed  her, 
feeling  very  conscious  of  his  worn  riding-clothes.  But 
as  everybody  was  playing  cards  nobody  cast  more  than 
a  casual  glance  in  his  direction,  save  Faith  Winton,  who 
rose  and  came  toward  them. 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES     175 

"Kathleen,  I've  driven  my  unfortunate  partner  nearly 
crazy.  He's  too  polite  to  tell  me  what  he  thinks  of  my 
play,  but  see  how  wistfully  he's  looking  at  you." 

Kathleen  laughed. 

"Well,  take  care  of  Angus,  then.  And  keep  his  mind 
off  his  clothes.  He's  worrying  because  he  isn't  dressed 
like  a  head  waiter."  With  a  nod  she  left  them  and 
seated  herself  at  the  vacant  table. 

"They  were  relieved  to  get  rid  of  me,"  Faith  Winton 
laughed.  "Shall  we  sit  down  and  talk?  I  haven't  seen 
you  for  weeks.  Why  didn't  you  come  to  see  me  once  in 
awhile?" 

"I  wanted  to,  but  somehow — " 

"Never  mind  excuses.  When  I  get  a  place  of  my 
own  perhaps  you  will  be  more  neighborly.  I've  made 
up  my  mind  to  build  a  house  on  my  ranch  in  the  spring." 

She  told  him  her  plans.  She  would  have  a  cottage 
built,  buy  a  few  head  of  stock  and  some  chickens,  break 
a  few  acres  as  a  start  and  set  out  fruit  trees.  Between 
the  rows  she  would  grow  small  fruits,  feed,  vegetables. 
When  the  trees  came  into  bearing  she  would  have  an 
assured,  definite  income. 

Angus  listened  in  grim  silence.  He  had  heard  it  all 
before  from  the  hopeful  lips  of  new  settlers.  Theoret- 
ically, so  many  bushels  may  be  grown  to  the  acre,  a 
tree  so  many  years  old  will  bear  so  many  boxes  of 
fruit.  This  is  quite  unassailable,  proven  by  actual 
experience,  by  incontestable  data,  set  out  in  reports 
which  are  the  gospel  of  the  new  and  especially  the  inex- 
perienced settler.  He  seizes  these  facts  avidly,  but  over- 
looks or  refuses  to  consider  a  number  of  other  things, 
such  as  drouth,  hail,  frosts  early  or  late,  winter-killed 
trees,  pests,  poor  years,  low  prices,  and  a  hundred  other 
factors  which  taken  together  make  those  actually  used 


176        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

entirely  misleading.  But  the  one  big  factor  which  the 
inexperienced  invariably  refuse  to  consider  at  all,  is 
that  inexperience  itself. 

"I  don't  want  to  discourage  you,"  he  said,  "but  you 
know,  don't  you,  that  you  can't  do  this  work  yourself. 
Hiring  will  eat  up  your  profit." 

"But  there  must  be  a  margin.  You  hire  men  your- 
self." 

"I  hire  two  men  to  about  three  hundred  acres.  You 
are  thinking  of  hiring  about  one  man  for  ten.  At  that 
rate  I  should  have  thirty  men,  and  the  land  wouldn't 
pay  for  them." 

"But  I  could  hire  a  man  as  I  needed  him,  and  what 
improvements  I  make  will  increase  the  value  of  the 
place.  And  when  I  get  more  cleared — " 

Metaphorically,  Angus  threw  up  his  hands.  It  was 
no  use.  Also  it  was  impossible  to  tell  her  the  truth 
about  the  property  under  the  circumstances.  With  actual 
experience  she  might  give  up  the  idea.  All  he  could  do 
was  to  make  the  experiment  as  cheap  as  possible  for  her. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "when  the  winter  breaks  up,  if 
you're  of  the  same  mind,  I'll  do  your  breaking  and  disk- 
ing for  you,  if  you  like,  and  seed  it  down  to  something.  I 
can  clean  out  the  spring  and  run  a  ditch  and  fix  it  for 
irrigating.  You  needn't  bother  with  water  from  the 
creek  for  a  few  acres.  While  I'm  about  it  I  might  as 
well  do  the  fencing  and  fork  out  the  sods  for  a  garden 
patch.  When  the  sleighing  is  good  I'll  haul  over  a  few 
loads  of  well-rotted  manure." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said,  "but—" 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  Angus  continued.  "I  guess 
you  don't  know  much  about  planting  trees  and  garden 
truck.  I'll  attend  to  that.  I  may  as  well  order  your 
seeds  while  I'm  getting  my  own.  I  can  run  a  cultivator 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES     177 

through  the  garden  now  and  then  in  the  evenings.  I 
can  fix  you  up  with  all  the  tools  you'll  need.  Then  I  can 
give  you  a  milk  cow,  a  nice  quiet — " 

"Wait,  wait!"  she  interrupted  as  Angus  began  to 
think  of  other  items.  "What  are  all  these  things  and  all 
this  work  going  to  cost?" 

"Cost?"  Angus  echoed  blankly.  "Why,  nothing, 
of  course.  They  don't  amount  to  anything." 

"Don't  they?  It  seems  to  me  you're  calmly  arrang- 
ing to  do  all  my  work  yourself — the  work  you  said  I'd 
have  to  hire  done." 

"These  are  just  a  few  little  chores  for  a  neighbor. 
Nobody  would  think  of  charging  for  them.  We  sort 
of  swap  work  about  here." 

"But  what  work  could  I  do  for  you?" 

"Huh!"  Angus  hesitated,  at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 
"Oh,  lots  of  things.  You  could — er — um — yes,  of 
course  you  could." 

"You  can't  think  of  one  single  thing  I  could  do!" 

"You  could  pick  berries,"  said  Angus  struck  by  a  bril- 
liant thought.  "Yes,  you  could  do  that  better  than  any 
man.  I  always  have  a  lot  more  than  I  can  use,  and  you 
could  put  up  all  you  needed  for  the  winter." 

"And  you  think  giving  me  fruit  would  pay  for — p-pay 
for—" 

She  broke  off,  and  Angus  saw  to  his  utter  amazement 
that  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears,  as  she  bent  her  head. 

"Whatever  is  the  matter?"  he  whispered.  "Is  it 
anything  I've  said?" 

"It's — it's  everything  you've  said,"  she  murmured. 
"Don't  say  anything  for  a  minute,  please." 

So  Angus  kept  silence,  sorely  puzzled,  and  in  a  few 
moments  she  looked  him  in  the  face  with  eyes  still  misty 
and  a  little,  tremulous  smile. 


178        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Yes,  it's  everything.  I  couldn't  stand  it.  Nobody 
else  has  really  offered  to  help  me.  The  boys  think  it's 
a  joke,  and  Kathleen  thinks  I'm  mildly  crazy.  And 
then  you,  a  stranger — " 

"I'm  not.  And  I  might  as  well  put  in  my  spare  time 
helping  you." 

"You  have  no  spare  time,  and  I  know  it.  I  must 
pay  for  what  you  do." 

"All  right.    I'll  send  you  a  bill." 

"For  a  fraction  of  what  the  work  is  worth!"  she 
scoffed.  "Not  that  way,  Angus  Mackay!" 

"Any  way  you  like,"  Angus  said,  knowing  that  he 
could  make  it  up  to  her. 

"Very  well — and  thank  you.  I'll  be  an  independent 
ranch  lady — unless  I  sell  the  place." 

"Has  any  one  made  you  an  offer?" 

"No.     I  would  rather  not  sell,  anyway." 

"You  have  your  title  deeds  all  in  order,  in  case  you 
should  want  to  sell?" 

"I  suppose  so.    Uncle  Godfrey  would  attend  to  that." 

"He  has  the  title  papers?" 

"Yes.  I  never  saw  them.  I  don't  know  much  about 
such  things.  Father  told  me  Uncle  Godfrey  had  them 
all." 

Angus  dropped  the  subject.  He  could  not  very  well 
suggest  that  she  take  a  look  at  these  papers.  Faith  Win- 
ton  on  her  part  appeared  satisfied.  Presently  she  sug- 
gested music  and  went  to  the  piano.  Lying  back  in  a 
chair  Angus  watched  the  soft  curve  of  her  cheek,  her 
clean-cut  profile,  the  certain  touch  of  her  fingers  on  the 
keys.  Absently  his  gaze  wandered  to  the  card  players. 
He  had  no  idea  of  the  stakes,  but  the  players  were  tense, 
absorbed.  Faith  Winton,  glancing  at  him,  marked  his 
expression. 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES     179 

"What  are  you  thinking  of?"  she  asked  without  inter- 
rupting the  play  of  her  fingers. 

"I  was  wondering  how  on  earth  these  people  can  sit 
playing  cards  all  night." 

"I  hate  this,"  she  said.  He  looked  at  her  in  sur- 
prise. "All  of  it.  It's  not  like  Christmas  night.  It's 
not  even  sociability.  It's  gambling,  pure  and  simple. 
Uncle  Godfrey  and  Kathleen  will  stop  presently,  but  the 
boys  will  play  till  morning." 

Shortly,  the  first  half  of  her  prediction  was  verified. 
The  games  broke  up.  Godfrey  French  apologized  per- 
functorily. Time  was  when  he  would  have  spent  the 
night  in  such  good  company,  but  now  he  was  no  longer 
young.  With  him  went  Faith  and  Kathleen. 

With  their  going  the  business  of  the  evening  began 
in  earnest.  A  quartet  stuck  to  bridge,  but  the  rest 
embarked  on  a  poker  game.  Scotch  circulated  briskly. 

Angus,  very  much  out  of  it,  sat  and  smoked,  regard- 
ing the  players  idly.  He  noted  that  the  French  boys — 
Blake  was  absent — drank  very  little.  On  the  other 
hand,  some  of  the  players  drank  a  good  deal.  But 
finally  he  lost  interest.  He  became  sleepy  and  dozed 
in  his  chair. 

He  was  awakened  by  loud  voices.  The  poker  game 
had  broken  up ;  the  players  were  on  their  feet. 

"I  tell" you,  Willoughby,"  Gerald  French  was  saying, 
"you  are  quite  mistaken.  Nothing  of  the  sort  hap- 
pened." 

"I  saw  it,"  Willoughby  maintained  doggedly. 

"You  are  a  guest,"  said  Gerald,  "but  don't  abuse  your 
privileges." 

"I  am  aware  of  my  obligations  as  a  guest,"  Wil- 
loughby retorted,  "but  they  do  not  include  allowing 
myself  to  be  rooked  at  cards." 


i  So        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Instantly  Gerald  struck  him  hard  across  the  mouth  and 
Willoughby  lashed  back.  Another  guest  sought  .o  inter- 
fere. Young  Larry  pushed  him  back. 

"Keep  out!"  he  said.     "Mind  your  own  business." 

"Keep  your  hands  off  me !"  the  other  returned,  and 
caught  at  his  arm. 

Larry  pinned  him,  and  somebody  else  tried  to  pull 
him  loose.  Larry  came  loose  with  remarkable  alacrity, 
and  did  so  hitting  with  both  hands.  Gavin,  pushing 
forward,  was  caught  by  two  men.  Instantly  a  rough- 
house  started. 

Angus  sat  where  he  was,  taking  no  part.  He  saw 
Chetwood  plunge  into  the  fray  and  go  back  from  a 
straight  punch.  Gavin  shook  off  three  men  as  a  bear 
shakes  clear  of  a  worrying  pack,  and  as  he  did  so 
another  man  who  had  caught  up  a  chair,  swung  it  at 
his  head.  The  big  man  partially  dodged  the  blow, 
wrenched  the  chair  away  and  brandished  it  high.  As  he 
did  so  he  emitted  a  short,  deep  roar  of  anger. 

Fearing  that  somebody  might  be  seriously  hurt,  Angus 
decided  to  interfere.  He  leaped  forward  and  caught 
the  chair  as  it  poised  for  a  moment  aloft. 

"Don't  do  that,"  he  said.  Gavin's  ordinarily  cold 
eyes  were  blazing. 

"Keep  out  of  this,"  he  said.  "It's  nothing  to  you." 
As  he  spoke  he  tried  to  wrench  the  chair  free;  but  Angus' 
grip  held.  Letting  go  himself,  the  big  man  clinched 
him. 

Angus  felt  himself  caught  in  a  tremendous  grip;  but 
the  wrench  and  heave  that  followed  did  not  pluck  him 
from  his  footing.  He  locked  his  long  arms  around 
Gavin,  and  the  arch  of  his  back  and  the  sinews  of  his 
braced  legs  held  against  him. 

Suddenly  Gavin  gave  ground,  swung  and  tripped  with 


CHRISTMAS  AT  THE  FRENCHES     181 

the  heel.  Angus  felt  himself  going,  but  he  took  his  man 
with  him.  They  rolled  over  and  over.  By  this  time 
Angus  had  lost  all  his  indifference.  For  the  first  time 
since  his  full  strength  came  upon  him,  he  was  putting  it 
all  forth  against  a  man  as  strong  or  stronger  than  him- 
self. And  then  he  became  aware  that  nobody  else  was 
fighting.  Gavin's  grip  loosened. 

"Let  go,  Mackay,"  he  said.     "Cut  it  out  now." 

Then  Angus  saw  Kathleen.  She  had  slipped  on  some 
clinging  thing  of  blue  and  lace,  and  her  hair  in  its  night 
braids  hung  to  her  waist.  Her  face  was  pale  and  her 
eyes  stormy  with  anger. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "gentlemen!" 

She  accented  the  word  with  bitter  irony.  Her  eyes 
swept  over  them  disdainfully,  resting  for  a  moment  on 
Angus. 

"All  right,  Kit,"  Gavin  said.  "You  can  go  back  to 
roost." 

"If  you're  quite  through !"  she  said.  "Otherwise  I'll 
stay." 

"Oh,  we're  through,"  Gavin  assured  her. 

Without  another  word  Kathleen  left  the  room. 
Behind  her  there  was  utter  silence  for  a  moment.  Then 
with  one  accord  the  guests  moved  toward  the  door. 
Gavin  halted  them. 

"No,"  he  said,  "you  can't  go  till  this  blizzard  blows 
out.  Don't  be  damned  fools  just  because  we've  had  a 
row.  Mackay  will  tell  you  what  it's  like  outside.  Now 
we'll  leave  you  alone,  because  you  probably  want  it  that 
way."  He  turned  to  Angus  who  stood  apart  from 
the  rest,  and  lowered  his  voice.  "You're  a  good,  skoo- 
kum  man,  Mackay.  I  half  wish  Kathleen  hadn't  butted 
in." 

"So  do  I,"  Angus  returned.     The  big  man  smiled. 


1 82        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"No  hard  feelings  on  my  part,"  he  said.  "I'd  just 
like  to  see  which  of  us  was  the  better  man.  I  never 
hooked  up  with  anybody  as  husky  as  you.  You're  not 
like  these  blighters."  His  eyes  rested  on  his  guests  with 
utter  contempt.  "You  were  right  in  catching  that  chair. 
I  might  have  hurt  somebody.  Thanks.  Good  night." 

Left  alone,  Angus  after  telling  the  others  that  in  his 
opinion  it  would  be  folly  to  venture  out  before  daylight, 
established  himself  in  his  corner,  where  Chetwood  pres- 
ently joined  him. 

"Pleasant  evening,  what?"  he  observed.   He  grinned. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  back." 

"Just  got  in  the  other  night,  and  intended  to  look  you 
up  to-morrow." 

"Do  it,  anyway." 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  if  you  could  do  with  another 
man  on  your  ranch?" 

"Not  till  spring." 

"Wages  secondary  object.  Primary  one  a  Christian 
home  for  an  honest  but  inexperienced  young  man  whose 
funds  are  not  what  they  should  be." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"His  full  name  is  Eustace  William  Fitzroy  Chet- 
wood. But  he  would  answer  to  'Bill.  ' 

"You?"  Angus  exclaimed.     "You're  joking." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  have  the  best  of  reasons  for  ask- 
ing. Tell  you  about  them  some  time.  To-night  is 
my  last  night  of  the  gay  life.  Thought  I  might  win 
a  little  money,  but  instead  of  that  I  lost.  I  am  an  appli- 
cant for  work." 

"You're  welcome.  I  can't  pay  much,  but  the  meals 
come  regularly." 

"That's  very  good  of  you,"  Chetwood  acknowledged. 
"I'll  move  my  traps  out  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INTRODUCING  MRS.    FOLEY 

THAT  spring,  as  soon  as  the  frost  was  out  of  the 
ground,  Angus  did  his  promised  work  for  Faith 
Winton,  while  a  couple  of  carpenters  ran  up  a  cot- 
tage, stable  and  outbuilding.     With  this  extra  work, 
Angus  was  more  than  busy.    The  Frenches  did  nothing 
to  help.     They  seemed  to  regard  the  girl's  actions  as 
folly  of  which  the  sooner  she  was  cured  the  better. 

"I  am  getting  a  companion,  an  old  friend  of  mine," 
Faith  told  Angus  one  day  as  the  cottage  neared  comple- 
tion." It  may  be  cowardly,  but  I  don't  want  to  live  here 
alone." 

"Of  course  it  would  be  lonesome,"  he  agreed.  "It 
will  be  nice  for  you  to  have  a  girl  friend." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  and  laughed.  "Oh, 
very  nice.  We'll  move  in  some  time  next  week." 

A  week  passed  and  another,  and  Angus,  though  he 
had  heard  that  the  new  ranch  was  occupied,  had 
had  no  opportunity  to  visit  it.  Then  one  evening  he 
saddled  Chief  and  rode  over. 

He  saw  smoke  rising  from  the  chimney,  and  when 
he  dismounted  and  ascended  the  steps  he  heard  a  strange 
swishing  and  thumping,  accompanied  by  a  melancholy 
moaning  which  put  him  in  mind  of  a  dog  scratching  a 
sore  ear.  Wondering  what  on  earth  the  racket  was 
about,  he  knocked. 

The  noise  ceased,  heavy  footsteps  utterly  unlike 
Faith  Winton's  crossed  the  floor,  the  door  opened  and 
a  strange  lady  confronted  him.  She  was  short,  but 

183 


1 84        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

extremely  broad  of  beam.  Her  hair,  streaked  with 
gray,  had  once  been  a  fiery  red.  She  had  keen, 
aggressive  blue  eyes,  a  short,  turned-up  nose,  and  a 
wide  mouth  with  perfect  white  teeth.  Her  sleeves 
were  rolled  above  her  elbows,  showing  a  pair  of  solid, 
red,  freckled  forearms,  and  in  one  hand  she  carried 
a  mop.  Amazed  at  this  apparition,  Angus  gaped 
at  her. 

"Well,"  said  the  lady  in  accents  which  left  no  doubt 
of  her  nationality,  "well,  misther  man,  an'  phwat  will 
yez  be  wantin'  ?" 

"Is  Miss  Winton  at  home?"  Angus  asked. 

"She  is  nat" 

"She's  living  here  now,  isn't  she?" 

"She  is." 

"Which  way  has  she  gone?" 

"I  dunno." 

"Then   I'll  wait,"   Angus   decided. 

"Outside!"    the  lady  also  decided. 

Bang!  The  door  shut  in  Angus'  face.  Immediately 
the  thump  and  swish  began  again,  though  the  moaning 
obligato  did  not.  Angus  sat  down  on  the  steps  and 
filled  his  pipe,  but  found  he  had  no  matches.  For  some 
moments  he  sat  there,  sucking  the  cold  stem  and  wonder- 
ing where  the  deuce  Faith  Winton  had  picked  up  this 
woman.  No  doubt  she  and  her  girl  friend  had  gone  for  a 
walk.  Well,  he  might  as  well  be  doing  something. 

He  went  around  to  the  back  of  the  house  where  he 
had  hauled  a  pile  of  wood,  picked  up  an  old  ax  and 
began  to  split.  Once  the  lady  of  the  mop  came  to  the 
back  door  and  took  a  long  look  at  him.  By  and  by, 
tiring  of  splitting  and  wanting  a  smoke  very  badly,  he 
put  on  his  coat  and  went  to  the  door  to  request  a  match. 
The  lady  of  the  mop  met  him  on  the  threshold. 


INTRODUCING  MRS.  FOLEY          185 

"Could  you  give  me — "  he  began,  but  she  cut  him 
short. 

"I  could  nat"  she  said  grimly.  "Who  asked  ye  to  do 
ut?  On  yer  way!" 

"But—" 

"They's  nawthin'  comin'  to  ye,"  the  lady  asserted. 
"Ut's  no  handout  yez'll  get  here." 

"But  I  don't  want—" 

"Yez  want  coin,  do  yez  ?    Divil  th'  cint  will  yez  get !" 

"No,  no,"  Angus  protested,"you're  all  wrong.  I 
want — " 

"An'  do  I  care  phwat  yez  want,  ye  black-avised  bo?" 
the  lady  shouted  in  a  tops'1-yard-ahoy  bellow.  "Beggars 
on  harrseback  I've  heerd  iv,  but  ye're  the  first  I've  seen. 
On  yer  way;  or  th'  flat  iv  me  hand  and  th'  toe  iv  me 
boot  is  phwat  ye'll  dhraw,  for  all  the  bigness  iv  ye,  ye 
long,  lazy,  herrin' — bel — " 

"Give  me  a  match!"  Angus  roared  through  this 
wealth  of  personal  description,  despairing  of  making 
his  want  known  otherwise.  "I  want  a  match,  that's  all." 

"A  match?"  the  lady  exclaimed. 

"Sure,  to  light  my  pipe  with,"  Angus  told  her.  "I'm 
not  a  hobo.  I'm  working  the  place  for  Miss  Winton." 

"And  why  couldn't  ye  say  so  before?"  she  demanded, 
frowning  at  him. 

"Because  you  wouldn't  give  me  a  chance.  You 
wouldn't  let  me  get  in  a  word  edgeways." 

"God  save  us  all,  an'  maybe  I  wouldn't  then,"  she 
admitted.  "Is  Mackay  th'  name  iv  ye?  Come  in  an' 
sit  down.  A  match,  is  ut?  Here  ye  are,  then." 

Angus  sat  down  and  lit  his  pipe,  while  she  stared 
at  him. 

"Faix,  then,  I  wouldn't  have  knowed  ye  at  all,  at 
all,"  she  said. 


1 86        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Well,  you  never  saw  me  before." 

"Be  description,  I  mane.    She  said — " 

"Miss  Winton?" 

"Who  else?  Yez  do  be  big  enough,  but  homelier 
than  she  said." 

"Did  she  say  I  was  homely?" 

"Did  I  say  so?"  the  lady  returned,  and  her  blue  eyes 
twinkled. 

"Not  exactly.     But—" 

"Then  don't  be  puttin'  words  into  a  woman's  mouth, 
for  God  knows  they's  no  need  iv  ut,"  she  told  him.  "An* 
so  ye  do  be  th'  Mackay  lad  I've  been  hearin'  iv,  that 
found  her  whin  she  was  a  little,  lost  wan,  an'  shooted 
that  murtherin'  divil  iv  a  grizzly  bear!" 

Angus  acknowledged  his  identity  and  diffidently 
inquired  the  lady's  name. 

"Me  name,  is  ut?  They's  times  whin  I  have  to  stop 
an'  think.  Mary  Kelly  I  was  born,  an'  me  first  was 
Tim  Phelan.  A  slip  iv  a  gyurl  I  was  then,  an'  little 
more  when  they  waked  him.  Dhrowned  he  was,  but 
sure  wather  was  always  fatal  to  his  fam'ly,  an'  maybe 
it  was  all  for  the  best,  as  Father  Paul  said  whin  he 
married  me  to  Dan  Shaughnessy  after  a  dacint  year. 
But  he  died  himself,  the  holy  man,  before  Dan  fell  off 
the  roof,  an'  it  was  Father  Kerrigan  said  the  words 
over  me  an'  Pether  Finucane.  It  was  Dinney  Foley 
brought  me  th'  news  iv  th'  premachure  blast  that  tuk 
Pether,  an'  I  married  him.  Dinny  was  me  last.  So 
me  name's  Mrs.  Foley." 

"And  is  Mr.  Foley  here  on  the  ranch?"  Angus  asked. 

"I  hope  not,"  Mrs.  Foley  returned  with  apprehension. 
"Givin'  him  th'  best  iv  ut,  he's  wid  th'  blessid  saints. 
A  voylent  man  was  poor  Dinney,  as  broad  as  ye,  but  not 
so  high,  an'  a  lion  wid  a  muckstick.  But  phwat's  a 


INTRODUCING  MRS.  FOLEY          187 

muckstick  to  knives?  Sure  thim  dirty  dagoes  is  born 
wid  thim  in  their  hands.  Though  he  stretched  thim 
right  an'  left  wid  th'  shovel,  he  could  not  gyard  his 
back.  So  whin  I  buried  him  I  quit.  No,  I've  had  no 
luck  at  all  keepin'  men."  And  Mrs.  Foley  sighed,  pursed 
up  her  lips  and  shook  her  head  at  Angus. 

"You  do  seem  to  have  been  out  of  luck,"  Angus 
sympathized  gravely.  "Have  you  known  Miss  Win- 
ton  long." 

"As  long  as  she  is.  I  nursed  her  wid  me  own  b'y 
that  died." 

"And  have  you  known  this  girl  friend  of  hers,  long, 
too?" 

"Phwatgyurl  friend?" 

"The  one  who  is  here  with  her — her  companion." 

"I'm  her,"  Mrs.  Foley  returned.  "Where  do  ye 
get  this  gyurl  friend  thing,  anyway?" 

But  Angus  could  not  tell.  He  had  put  his  own  con- 
struction on  Faith  Winton's  words.  At  any  rate  Mrs. 
Foley  seemed  a  capable  companion. 

"Well,  I  hope  you'll  like  it  here,"  he  said.  "It  may 
be  a  little  lonely,  but  there's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of. 
Bears  seldom  come  down  on  the  benchlands  now,  and 
there  are  no  hoboes  worse  than  I  am." 

"Afraid,  is  ut?"  Mrs.  Foley  snorted.  "An'  wud  I 
that  has  lived  wid  four  men  be  afraid  iv  a  bear?  I  am 
not  even  afeard  iv  a  mouse.  Anyways,  for  bears  an' 
bos  they's  a  dog." 

"I  thought  I  heard  him  whining  when  I  came  to  the 
front  door." 

"Whining?"  Mrs.  Foley  ejaculated. 

"Well,  sort  of  moaning  as  if  he  was  scratching  a  sore 
ear.  And  then  he  howled." 

"Howled!"  Mrs.  Foley  cried.     "Th'  nerve  iv  ye!" 


i88        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"What's  the  matter?"  Angus  asked.  "It  sounded 
like  a  lonesome  pup  to  me." 

"Did  ut,  indade !"  snorted  Mrs.  Foley.  "Ye  big,  on- 
mannerly  blackgyard,  that  was  me,  singin' !" 

"Singing?"  Angus  gasped. 

"Singin',"  Mrs.  Foley  repeated  firmly.  "An'  a  sweet 
song,  too,  a  rale  Irish  song.  Color  blind  in  th'  ears,  ye 
are,  ye  long  lummix!  May  th'  divil —  But  phwat's 
the  use?  Th'  ign' ranee  iv  ye  is  curse  enough!" 

"What's  the  matter,  Mary?"  Faith  Winton's  voice 
asked  from  the  door.  "You're  not  quarrelling  with 
Angus  Mackay,  I  hope." 

"I  wud  not  lower  mesilf !"  Mrs.  Foley  replied  loft- 
ily, "though  he  said  me  singin'  was  like  the  howlin's  iv 
a  purp." 

"No,  no,"  Angus  protested,  "I  didn't  mean  that.  I 
heard  your  singing,  too,  and  it  was  fine." 

"Yez  may  be  a  willin'  liar,  but  yer  work  is  coorse," 
Mrs.  Foley  informed  him.  "Well,  I  do  not  set  up  f'r 
to  be  wan  iv  thim  divas.  I  can  raise  th'  keen  fine  over 
a  corpse,  but  me  singin'  is  privut  an'  so  intended,  So  I 
forgive  ye,  young  man,  more  be  token  I  can  see  it's  her- 
self thinks  it's  a  joke  on  the  old  gyurl.  For  shame, 
Miss  Faith!  An'  me  that's  crooned  ye  in  yer  cradle 
many's  the  long  night !" 

But  there  was  a  twinkle  in  Mrs.  Foley's  blue  eyes, 
and  Angus  began  to  suspect  that  her  bark  was  much 
worse  than  her  bite. 

"Mary  was  my  nurse,"  Faith  told  him  when  they 
were  seated  in  the  living  room.  "She  really  thinks  the 
world  of  me,  spoils  me — and  bullies  me.  But  what  do 
you  think  of  my  humble  home?  You  haven't  seen  it 
since  it  was  finished." 

Angus  approved  the  room  and  its  furnishings.    There 


INTRODUCING  MRS.  FOLEY          189 

was  space  to  move,  and  a  fireplace.  The  chairs  were 
comfortable  and  strong;  there  was  a  spacious  couch,  a 
well-filled  bookcase,  a  piano  and  a  banjo  case. 

"I  like  it,"  he  said.  "It's  not  cluttered  up  with  a  lot 
of  junk.  Everything  looks  as  if  it  could  be  used.  That's 
what  I  like.  Is  that  a  banjo  and  do  you  play  it?" 

"Yes,  I  play  it." 

"I  like  a  banjo  better  than  a  piano." 

"You  Philistine !     Why?" 

"Perhaps  because  I'm  a  Philistine.  I  don't  know 
just  why.  All  I  know  is  that  I  do  like  it  better.  A 
piano  is  sort  of  machine-made  music  to  me;  but  with  a 
banjo  the  player  seems  to  be  making  the  music  himself, 
as  if  he  was  singing." 

"You  mean  there  is  more  personal  expression." 

"Maybe.  I  don't  know  anything  about  music.  But 
a  banjo  seems  to  talk.  It's  the  thing  for  the  tunes  that 
everybody  knows." 

"You  and  Kipling  agree,  then.  You  know  his  'Song 
of  the  Banjo' : 

"And  the  tunes  that  mean  so  much  to  you  alone — 
Common  tunes  that  make  you  choke  and  blow  your  nose, 
Vulgar  tunes  that  bring  the  laugh  that  hides  the  groan — 
I  can  rip  your  very  heartstrings  out  with  those." 

"Yes,  that's  the  idea.     He's  right  enough  there." 
"And  how  about: 

'  'But  the  word,  the  word  is  mine 
When  the  order  moves  the  line, 
And  the  lean,  locked  ranks  go  roaring  down  to  die,'  ?" 

she  asked  curiously. 

"The  only  music  to  fight  with  and  to  die  to  is  the 
pipes,"  Angus  said. 

"The  pipes?     You  mean  the  bagpipes." 


1 90        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Of  course." 

"Some  people,"  Faith  laughed,  "would  say  that  death 
would  be  a  blessed  relief  from  the  sound  of  them." 

Angus  smiled  grimly.  "I  know.  There  are  plenty 
of  jokes  about  the  pipes.  But  they  are  no  joke  to  the 
men  who  meet  the  men  played  into  battle  to  the  skirl 
of  them." 

"I  believe  you  are  right  in  that,"  Faith  admitted.  "I 
haven't  a  drop  of  Scotch  blood,  so  far  as  I  know.  But 
I  have  heard  a  pipe  band  playing  'Lochaber  No  More' 
behind  a  gun  carriage  which  bore  a  dead  soldier;  and  I 
have  seen  the  Highland  regiments  march  past  the  colors 
at  a  review,  to  'Glendarual'  and  'Cock  o'  the  North,' 
and  heaven  knows  what  gatherings  and  pibrochs,  and 
I  have  stood  up  on  my  toes  and  my  back  hair  has  felt 
crinkly.  I  own  up  to  it.  But  I  love  the  banjo.  It's  a 
little  sister  of  the  lonesome." 

She  took  the  instrument,  a  beautiful  concert  model, 
from  its  case,  keyed  it  for  a  moment  and  spoke  through 
low,  rippling  chords. 

"Sometimes  at  night  I  pick  it  by  the  hour — oh,  very 
softly,  so  as  not  to  disturb  anybody — not  any  particular 
tune — just  odds  and  ends,  anything — and  my  thoughts 
go  away  off  wool  gathering  and  I  am  quite  happy.  Can 
you  understand  such  foolishness?" 

"Yes,"  Angus  replied  seriously.  "I  can't  play  any- 
thing, or  sing,  but  there  are  times  when  I  want  to — 
if  you  can  understand  that." 

She  nodded,  her  fingers  brushing  the  strings.  "Yes, 
I  know.  Often  the  person  who  knows  least  about  music 
loves  it  best — down  in  his  soul." 

"Play  something,"  Angus  urged. 

And  so  Faith  Winton  played.  At  first  she  played 
consciously;  but  as  the  daylight  faded  and  the  twilight 


INTRODUCING  MRS.  FOLEY          191 

came  she  let  the  strings  talk.  Bits  of  old  half-forgotten 
melodies  rippled  from  her  fingers,  changing,  shifting, 
mingling  and  merging,  now  familiar  or  half  familiar  and 
then  quite  strange;  but  always  tugging,  tugging  at  the 
heartstrings,  as  if  in  the  gut  and  parchment  there  dwelt 
a  wayward,  whimsical  soul,  half-sad  and  half-merry, 
whimpering  and  chuckling  in  the  growing  darkness. 
Suddenly  the  music  swept  into  a  rolling,  thunderous 
march,  shifted  to  a  rollicking  Irish  jig,  and  stopped 
abruptly  with  a  crash  of  chords  and  a  ringing  of  gut 
and  iron. 

"Don't  stop,"  Angus  said. 

"But  I've  played  myself  out — for  this  time.  It's 
dark — quite  dark — and  I  didn't  notice.  I  must  get  a 
light." 

"I  must  go.  I  have  never  heard  playing  like  that — 
never.  I'll  take  much  of  it  home  with  me." 

"Come  and  get  more  any  time,"  she  laughed.  "When 
shall  I  see  you  again?" 

"To-morrow  or  next  day.  There  are  several  things 
to  be  done  here.  If  I  can't  come  myself,  I'll  send  Gus." 

"Try  to  come  yourself,"  said  Faith  Winton. 

Angus,  as  he  rode  homeward,  found  himself  dwell- 
ing on  these  words. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK 

SPRING  merged  into  early  summer,  and  Jean  came 
home.    Angus  met  her,  and  before  they  were  clear 
of  town  he  was  undergoing  a  feminine  cross-exam- 
ination as  to  Faith  Winton. 

"Is  she  pretty,  Angus?" 

"You  girls  are  all  alike,"  he  grinned.  "That's  what 
she  asked  about  you." 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  I  hadn't  noticed." 

"You're  a  nice  brother!" 

"That's  exactly  what  she  said." 

"Well,  I  like  her  for  that.     But  is  she  pretty?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  that  a  girl  would  call  her  pretty. 
She  doesn't  dress  herself  up  like  a  French  wedding  and 
frizzle  her  hair  and  all  that,  but  she's — she's — oh, 
darned  if  I  know!  She  looks  clean." 

"Clean!"  Miss  Jean  cried.  "Well,  I  should  hope 
so !" 

"I  mean  clean-run,  clean-strain,  clean-built,  like  a  good 
horse." 

"My  heavens,  Angus,  don't  tell  me  she's  built  like  a 
horse!" 

"Don't  be  a  little  fool !"  her  brother  growled.  "She's 
better  built  than  you  are,  young  lady,  and  prettier,  too." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  Miss  Jean  sniffed.  "Well,  beauty 
doesn't  run  in  our  family.  Now  tell  me  about  Turkey." 

But  Angus  could  not  give  her  much  information. 
Turkey  was  working  around,  here  and  there,  but  he 
never  came  to  the  ranch. 

192 


AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK  193 

"Can't  we  get  him  to  come  back,  Angus?" 

"He  can  come  when  he  likes." 

"Yes,  I  know.     But  won't  you  ask  him?" 

Angus  did  not  reply  at  once. 

"No,"  he  said  at  last,  deliberately,  "I  won't.  It's  not 
the  fire;  I  don't  care  for  that.  But  we  haven't  got  along 
well  for  a  long  time.  It  had  to  come  to  a  show-down." 

Out  of  her  knowledge  of  her  brother,  Jean  dropped 
the  subject  temporarily.  She  asked  casually  about  Chet- 
wood. 

"Did  he  ever  tell  you  why  his  remittances  had 
stopped?" 

"No.  Of  course  I  never  asked.  I  got  the  idea 
that  something  had  gone  bust — that  there  was  no  more 
money  coming  in.  He  wasn't  actually  a  remittance  man, 
you  know.  He  had  some  money  of  his  own." 

"It  comes  to  the  same  thing — if  he  hasn't  any  now," 
said  Miss  Jean.  "It  will  be  a  good  thing  for  him  to 
do  some  work." 

She  exhibited  no  special  enthusiasm  when  she  met  the 
young  man.  Chetwood  in  overalls,  with  nailed  boots, 
hard  and  brown,  differed  materially  from  the  young 
idler  of  the  summer  before,  but  his  cheery  good  nature 
was  unchanged.  Apparently  the  loss  of  his  income  or 
capital,  or  both,  did  not  worry  him. 

The  next  day  Jean  rode  over  with  Angus  to  make 
Faith  Winton's  acquaintance.  Angus  left  them  alone  to 
be  friends  or  otherwise.  Returning  a  couple  of  hours 
later,  he  found  that  there  was  no  doubt  about  their 
mutual  attitude. 

"Why,  she's  a  dear!"  Jean  declared  enthusiastically 
as  they  rode  homeward.  "Why  didn't  you  tell  me  what 
she  was  like?" 

"I  tried  to." 


i94        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  said  she  was  clean-built,  like  a  good  horse.  I 
told  her—" 

"What!"  Angus  cried  in  horror. 

"Not  that,  of  course.  I  told  her  you  were  a  clam. 
She  said  from  your  description  she  thought  I  was  a 
skinny,  little  girl  in  braids  and  short  dresses." 

"I  never  said  anything  about  braids  and  dresses." 

"Did  you  say  I  was  skinny?"  Miss  Jean  demanded. 

"Well—" 

"Then  you  did  say  it.     Ye  great,  long,  lummix — " 

"Hello  1"  said  Angus.  "That  sounds  like  Mrs.  Foley. 

'  'And  so  yez  do  be  th'  sister  iv  that  great,  long, 
lummix  iv  an  Angus  Mackay,'  "  said  his  sister  in  startling 
imitation  of  that  lady.  "  'Yez  do  not  favor  him,  bein' 
a  good-lookin'  slip  iv  a  colleen.'  What  do  you  think 
of  that,  Angus?" 

"That  you're  making  the  last  part  up,"  her  brother 
grinned. 

"Not  a  word,  not  a  syllable.  I  told  her  I  thought 
you  were  a  big,  fine-looking  young  man,  and  what  do  you 
think  she  said?" 

"I'll  bet  she  didn't  agree  with  you." 

"  *  'Tis  yer  duty  as  a  sisther  to  stand  up  f'r  yer 
brother,'  she  told  me,  'an'  I  am  not  mixin'  it  wid  yez 
on  th'  question  iv  his  shape.  'Tis  true  he's  that  big  they 
was  a  good  pair  iv  twins  spoilt  in  him,  and  he  has  th' 
legs  an'  arrums  an'  back  iv  a  rale  man;  but  his  face  is 
that  hard  it  wud  make  a  foine  map  f'r  a  haythen  god.' ' 

"Huh !"  Angus  snorted.  "She  ought  to  look  at  her 
own." 

"Heavens,  Angus  !    I  believe  you're  vain." 
"Vain — blazes!"   Angus   growled.      "I   suppose   I 
ought  to  be  tickled  when  an  old  she-mick  says  I  look 
like  a  totem  pole." 


AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK  195 

"Like  a  god!"  his  sister  chuckled.  "Don't  get  sore, 
old  boy.  Miss  Winton  says  she's  never  complimentary 
to  the  people  she  likes  best.  She  thinks  you've  made  a 
hit  with  the  lady." 

"Then  I  wonder  what  she'd  have  said  about  my 
figurehead  if  I  hadn't?"  Angus  grinned.  "I  like  the 
old  girl,  myself,  but  she  sure  does  hand  it  to  me.  Well, 
I  guess  I  can  take  my  medicine." 

But  Angus  had  more  important  things  to  think  about. 
One  which  began  to  worry  him  was  exceptionally  dry 
weather.  High,  drying  winds  sucked  all  the  moisture 
from  the  soil,  and  with  the  loss  of  it  the  surface  earth 
shifted  and  blew  away  from  the  roots  of  the  grain. 
Deprived  of  this  support,  they  twisted  in  the  winds, 
their  arteries  of  life  hardened  and  withered.  The  grass 
crops  were  poor,  short  and  wiry  when  they  should  have 
been  lush  and  long.  Pallid  green  instead  of  dark  dom- 
inated the  hue  of  the  fields,  the  worst  possible  sign  to 
the  eye  of  the  rancher.  And  this  was  in  spite  of  the 
best  that  could  be  done  by  way  of  irrigation. 

Now  Angus  obtained  the  water  for  his  ditch  system 
from  a  mountain  creek  fed  by  innumerable  springs  as 
well  as  by  melting  snows  back  in  the  hills.  But  for  the 
first  time  in  his  experience  he  found  himself  without  suffi- 
cient water.  For  he  had  been  clearing  land  steadily, 
year  after  year,  without  enlarging  his  main  ditch.  So 
far  the  seasons  had  favored  him.  But  now,  in  the  first, 
old-time  dry  season  for  years,  he  found  that  his  ditch 
was  insufficient  to  irrigate  his  enlarged  acreage. 

It  was  out  of  the  question  to  deepen  or  broaden  the 
ditch  just  then.  To  do  so  would  be  a  task  of  some  mag- 
nitude, for  from  intake  to  ranch  was  nearly  two  miles. 
Time  had  packed  and  cemented  the  gravel  of  its  banks, 
and  further  bound  them  with  roots  of  grasses  and  wil- 


196        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

lows.  Again,  to  avoid  expensive  fluming  the  ditch 
wound  sinuously  around  the  flanks  of  several  steep  side- 
hills,  and  to  disturb  existing  sidehill  ditches  is  to  invite 
slides,  which  necessitate  flumes.  He  made  up  his  mind 
to  enlarge  the  ditch  before  another  season,  but  mean- 
while he  had  to  depend  on  it.  So  he  took  every  drop 
of  water  it  would  carry.  The  creek  was  high,  a  muddy 
torrent,  and  he  set  the  water  gate  of  his  intake  so  that 
the  ditch  should  run  rap  full,  but  no  spill,  and  thus 
cause  washouts  along  its  banks. 

One  morning  in  the  gray  of  dawn  Angus  awoke.  The 
wind  which  had  blown  all  night  seemed  to  have  lulled. 
He  heard  Gus  pass  his  door  on  the  way  to  the  stables, 
but  as  he  was  dressing  the  big  Swede  returned.  He 
pounded  on  Angus'  door. 

"Hey,  gat  oop!"  he  cried.  He  stuck  his  head  inside, 
his  eyes  round  and  goggling.  "We  ent  gat  no  watter!" 
he  announced. 

"The  devil  we  haven't!"  Angus  exclaimed.  "What's 
wrong?" 

"Ay  be  goldarn  if  Ay  know.  She's  yoost  off.  Mebbe 
dae  ditch  ban  plug." 

"Glom  a  shovel  for  me  and  get  an  ax  and  pick  and 
I'll  be  right  with  you,"  Angus  told  him. 

Dressing  hastily,  he  struck  the  main  ditch  behind 
the  house.  It  was  dry,  save  for  little  pools  in  which 
water  lingered.  They  crossed  the  rear  fence,  finding  no 
obstruction,  and  followed  the  ditch  until  it  struck  the 
sidehill  section.  Then  Gus  who  was  in  the  lead,  stopped 
with  an  oath. 

"By  Yudas  Priest!"  he  ejaculated,  "dae  whole  dam' 
sidehill  ban  vash  to  hal!" 

Pushing  past  him,  Angus  surveyed  the  damage. 
Where  the  ditch  had  run  was  a  raw,  gaping  wound  in 


AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK  197 

the  hillside.  Hundreds  of  tons  of  gravel,  earth  and 
small  bowlders  had  slid  down  on  it.  The  far  end  of  the 
ditch  vomited  water  upon  the  mass.  Even  as  they  looked 
a  few  yards  of  hillside  undermined  by  its  rush  came 
down  upon  the  broken  end,  blocking  the  water.  This, 
backed  up,  began  to  pour  over  the  banks  of  the  ditch. 

Left  to  itself  the  whole  ditch  would  wash  away. 
Circling  the  break,  both  men  took  the  trail  to  the  intake. 
The  water  gate  was  wide  open.  The  high  water  of 
the  creek  was  hurrying  through  in  a  swift  flood,  far 
more  than  the  ditch  could  carry.  They  threw  their 
weight  on  the  lever  and  shut  it  off. 

"Who  opened  it  this  far  on  that  water?"  Angus 
demanded. 

"Ay  ent  been  near  him,"  Gus  replied.  "Mebbe  dae 
Engelschman  monkey  med  him." 

It  was  most  unfortunate.  In  other  years  the  ditch 
had  carried  a  full  head  without  accident.  This  time, 
however,  it  had  failed  just  at  the  time  when  water  was 
absolutely  necessary  to  the  crops.  The  only  way  to 
get  water  now  was  to  build  a  flume ;  and  so,  immediately 
after  breakfast,  Rennie  started  for  a  load  of  planks, 
while  the  others  began  to  get  out  timbers  to  support 
them,  and  to  clear  away  the  mass  of  dirt.  Chetwood, 
it  appeared,  had  not  been  near  the  water  gate.  Some- 
body, however,  had  changed  it. 

They  dug  into  the  mess,  and  sank  holes  for  timbers 
to  support  the  flume.  Now  and  then  a  small  bowlder 
or  a  little  dirt  came  down  from  above,  where  the  hill 
rose  sheer  above  the  slip.  Gus,  looking  up  at  it,  shook 
his  head. 

"Mebbe  she  come  anoder  slide  an'  take  dae  flume, 
hey !  Mebbe  I  better  put  in  leetle  shot  up  dere  an'  fetch 
him  now?" 


i98        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  might  fetch  half  the  hill." 

"Yoost  vat  you  say." 

"Well,  make  it  a  darn  small  one." 

So  Gus  put  in  a  very  small  shot  which  brought  down 
a  small  patch  of  dirt  and  gravel,  but  did  not  budge  the 
mass. 

"I  guess  she  ban  O.  K.,"  he  admitted. 

It  took  four  days  to  put  in  the  flume.  When  water 
was  running  once  more  and  the  long,  silver  ribbons  of 
it  were  trickling  down  the  length  of  the  fields  giving 
fresh  life  to  the  grain  which,  even  in  that  short  time 
was  yellowing  with  the  drouth,  Angus  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"Thank  the  Lord  that's  done,"  he  observed. 

"If  we  couldn't  have  put  her  in  we'd  have  had  a 
hundred  years  of  dry  weather,"  Rennie  grumbled.  "But 
now,  of  course,  she'll  rain.' 

That  night,  as  if  to  make  his  prediction  good,  thunder- 
heads  rose  above  the  ranges  and  lightning  was  splitting 
the  back  of  the  southwest  sky.  But  all  that  came  of  it 
was  a  heavy  wind,  though  some  time  in  the  night  Angus 
was  awakened  by  what  he  thought  was  a  heavy  roll  of 
thunder.  But  as  he  emerged  from  the  house  in  the  early 
morning  the  sky  was  clear  and  the  day  seemed  to  prom- 
ise more  heat  than  ever. 

Thankful  that  he  had  water  anyway,  he  stood  for  a 
moment  cleaning  his  lungs  with  big  draughts  of  moun- 
tain air;  but  as  he  stood  he  seemed  to  miss  something 
which  was  or  should  have  been  a  part  of  that  early- 
morning  stretch  and  breath.  Puzzled  for  an  instant 
he  would  not  tell  what  was  missing.  And  then  he  knew. 
He  could  not  hear  the  gurgle  of  water  in  the  ditch  which 
ran  beside  the  house. 

He  reached  it  in  two  jumps.     It  was  dry.     For  a 


AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK  199 

moment  he  stood  contemplating  it,  and  then  started  on 
a  run  for  the  flume.  There  his  worst  fears  were  veri- 
fied. There  was  no  flume.  The  hanging  section  of 
sidehill  above  it  which  Gus'  shot  had  failed  to  shake, 
had  fetched  away  and  swept  the  structure  out  of  ex- 
istence. The  only  evidence  of  it  was  a  few  ends  of 
planks  and  timbers  sticking  up  at  crazy  angles.  All 
the  work  and  a  great  deal  more  was  to  do  over  again. 

Angus  stood  scowling  at  the  wreck.  His  crops  needed 
water  very,  very  badly,  and  this  time,  to  judge  from 
appearances,  it  would  take  a  week  to  make  repairs.  If 
the  dry  weather  continued  that  would  mean  practical 
ruin  to  his  crop. 

But  standing  there  would  not  help  matters  and  time 
was  precious.  As  soon  as  he  had  shut  off  the  water  he 
returned  to  the  house,  and  after  breakfast  all  hands 
tackled  the  job. 

It  was  harder  than  before.  Much  earth  and  loose 
rock  had  to  be  moved.  The  morning  was  hot,  breath- 
less. As  the  sun  gained  power  the  sidehill  absorbed 
its  rays  and  threw  off  a  baking  heat.  Chetwood,  unused 
to  such  work,  puffed  and  gasped,  but  stuck  to  it.  Angus 
and  Gus  labored  steadily,  without  respite.  But  Rennie 
after  a  while  leaned  on  his  shovel  and  stared  up  at  the 
raw  earth  above. 

"Where'd  you  put  in  that  shot,  Gus,  when  you  was 
tryin'  to  shake  her?"  he  asked. 

Gus  told  him,  and  soon  after  he  abandoned  his  shovel 
and  climbing  around  the  track  of  the  slide  he  got  above 
it.  There  he  poked  around  for  some  time.  Coming 
down  he  beckoned  to  Angus. 

"How  long  do  you  s'pose  it'll  take  to  put  in  this 
flume?"  he  queried. 

"Maybe  a  week." 


200        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Uh-huh!     And  then  s'pose  she  goes  out  again?" 

"What's  the  use  of  supposing  that?"  Angus 
demanded  irritably,  for  his  hard  luck  was  getting  on 
his  nerves.  "What  the  devil  are  you  croaking  for? 
I've  got  troubles  enough." 

"I'm  goin'  to  give  you  more,"  Rennie  told  him. 
"Look  a-here !"  He  exhibited  four  or  five  small  stones 
with  fresh,  yellow  earth  still  clinging  to  them,  and  a 
piece  of  broken  root.  "What  do  you  think  of  this  lay- 
out?" he  asked. 

Angus  frowned  at  the  junk  impatiently.  The  stones 
came  from  the  layer  of  like  stuff  which  lay  beneath  most 
of  the  land  in  the  district.  The  root  was  fir,  old,  resin- 
ous, so  that  it  had  not  rotted  with  the  tree  it  had  once 
helped  to  anchor,  and  apparently  it  was  freshly  broken 
off  and  twisted. 

"I've  been  shoveling  stuff  like  that  for  hours,"  he  said. 
"What  about  it?" 

"Quite  a  bit.  You  seen  me  nanitchin'  round  up  there, 
and  I  s'pose  you  damned  me  for  a  lazy  cuss.  Well, 
up  there's  where  I  find  them  things." 

"You  could  have  found  plenty  of  them  without  climb- 
ing." 

"But  I'm  tellin'  you  I  found  these  here  above  the 
slide." 

Angus  stared  at  him,  slowly  taking  in  his  meaning. 

"Above  it!"  'he  exclaimed. 

"That's  what  I  said.  Up  hill  from  the  slide.  Slide 
stuff  never  runs  up  hill.  This  stuff  was  blown  there." 

"Gus  put  in  a  little  shot — " 

"Near  a  week  ago.  The  dirt  on  these  rocks  ain't 
dry  yet.  Same  with  the  wood.  They  ain't  been  lyin' 
out  in  the  sun  no  time  at  all.  All  Gus  did  was  to  put 
in  a  little  coyote  hole,  and  she  blew  straight  out.  This 


AN  ENEMY  AT  WORK  201 

shot  was  above,  and  when  she  blew  she  ripped  the  whole 
sidehill  loose.  Mebbe  there  was  more  than  one  shot. 
I'll  bet  I  heard  it,  and  thought  it  was  thunder.  Any- 
way, all  this  stuff  was  above  where  the  slide  started. 
And  that's  what  made  the  first  slide,  too.  It  wasn't 
water.  Some  son  of  a  gun  shot  the  ditch." 

Angus  turned  the  bits  of  evidence  over  in  his  hands, 
frowning. 

"Who  would  do  a  trick  like  that?" 
"You  can  come  as  near  guessin'  as  I  can." 
Angus  shook  his  head.     Nobody,  so  far  as  he  knew, 
would  deliberately  cut  off  his  water.     And  yet,  accord- 
ing to  this   silent  but  conclusive  evidence,   somebody 
had  done  so.    The  repairs  had  been  wrecked  as  soon  as 
completed.     They  might  be  wrecked  again.     It  gave 
him  a  strange,  uncomfortable  feeling,  akin  to  that  of  a 
mysterious  presence  in  the  dark.    Also  it  moved  him  to 
deep,  silent  anger. 

"I  would  give  a  good  deal  to  know,"  he  said  quietly. 
"Nobody  hangin'  round  lately  that  I've  noticed.  But 
somebody  was  keepin'  case  all  right,  'cause  we  only  got 
water  a  few  hours.  And  I'll  tell  you  somethin'  else: 
When  we  get  the  flume  pretty  near  in  again  I'm  keepin' 
case  myself." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WATCHING 

IT  took  nine  days  to  complete  the  flume  a  second  time, 
and  all  hands  were  dog-tired.  All  the  time  the  heat 
had  continued  and  the  hot  winds  were  constant.  The 
ranch  had  suffered  badly.  Irreparable  damage  had 
been  done.  The  grain  was  stunted,  yellow.  There 
would  not  be  half  a  crop. 

These  things  bit  into  the  soul  of  Angus  Mackay  as  he 
labored  fiercely,  pitting  his  strength  and  endurance 
against  relentless  time.  He  could  get  no  clew,  no  inkling 
of  the  person  responsible  for  the  trouble. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  when  the  flume  was 
completed,  Rennie  was  absent.  After  supper  he  sought 
Angus. 

"I  went  across  the  creek  this  afternoon,"  he  said,  "and 
I  dumb  up  onto  that  hill  across  where  we  was  workin'. 
There  was  somebody  there  across  the  gulch  from  me. 
Course  I  went  down  and  over,  but  he'd  gone.  Found 
where  his  horse  had  been  standin'  on  top  of  the  hill." 

"You  couldn't  tell  who  it  was?" 

"No.  I  don't  think  he  seen  me.  But  whoever  it 
was,  was  sizin'  up  the  flume.  I'm  goin'  to  take  my 
blankets  and  camp  alongside  it  for  some  nights." 

"So  will  I,"  Angus  said.  "If  I  can  find  out  who  is 
doing  this,  Dave,  I  will  handle  them  myself.  I  will  not 
bother  about  the  law." 

A  little  spark  lit  in  Dave  Rennie's  mild,  blue  eyes. 

"Sure;  best  way,"  he  agreed.  "Things  was  a  darn, 
sight  better  and  safer  and  less  skunks  and  sharks  when 

202 


WATCHING  203 

every  gent  packed  his  own  law  below  his  belt.  Law 
don't  give  you  no  action  when  you  want  it.  Well,  let's 
get  organized." 

Angus  had  told  Jean  nothing  of  his  suspicions  as  to  the 
destruction  of  the  flume.  But  now  it  was  necessary. 
She  listened,  wide-eyed. 

"But  who  would  do  it,  Angus?" 

"If  I  knew,"  he  replied,  "I  would  be  hunting  him 
now." 

Jean  looked  at  her  big,  swarthy  brother,  noting  the 
grim  line  of  his  mouth,  the  smouldering  anger  in  his 
eyes. 

"Don't  get  into  any  trouble,  Angus." 

"It  will  be  somebody  else  that  will  get  into  trouble 
if  I  find  him." 

"But  if  you  can  avoid — " 

"I  will  avoid  nothing,"  he  told  her  sharply.  "Let 
others  do  that.  I  have  never  injured  a  man  in  my  life,  of 
my  own  will,  and  nobody  shall  injure  me  and  get  away 
with  it." 

Going  into  Rennie's  room  he  saw  his  blankets  on  the 
floor  ready  for  rolling.  On  them  reposed  a  worn  gun- 
belt  with  two  holdsters,  from  each  of  which  protruded 
an  ivory  butt.  Angus  stared  at  this  artillery,  which  he 
had  never  seen  before. 

"Sure,  take  a  look  at  'em,"  Dave  said,  interpreting 
his  gaze.  "I  ain't  wore  'em  for  so  long  they  feel  funny 
now.  Time  was,  though,  when  they  felt  natural  as  front 
teeth." 

Angus  drew  the  guns.  They  were  ivory-handled, 
forty-one  calibre,  heavy,  long-barreled,  single-action 
weapons  of  an  old  frontier  model.  Though  they  had 
evidently  seen  much  service,  they  were  spotless.  The 
pull,  when  Angus  tried  it,  was  astonishingly  quick  and 


204        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

smooth,  and  in  his  hands  they  fitted  and  balanced  per- 
fectly. 

"Them  guns,"  said  Dave,  "pretty  near  shoot  them- 
selves if  a  feller  savvies  a  gun  at  all.  A  feller  give  'em 
to  me  a  long  time  ago." 

"Some  present,"  Angus  commented. 

"Well,  he  hadn't  no  more  use  for  'em,"  Dave 
explained.  "Tell  you  about  it  some  time.  What  gun 
you  takin'?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Take  a  shotgun  with  buck.  That's  the  best  thing 
at  night." 

Angus  stared  at  him.  In  all  the  years  he  had  known 
Rennie  the  little  man  had  been  meek  and  mild,  appar- 
ently the  last  being  on  earth  to  exhibit  bloodthirsty 
tendencies. 

"I  don't  want  to  blow  anybody  to  pieces,"  he  said. 

"Well,  yow  won't — unless  you  get  to  shootin'  at 
mighty  close  range,"  Rennie  pointed  out;  "and  then  you 
won't  care.  Take  a  double  bar'l  and  a  box  of  goose 
loads,  anyway." 

An  hour  later  they  picked  a  level  spot  near  the  new 
flume,  wrapped  up  in  their  blankets  and  lit  pipes.  But 
soon  Angus  dozed. 

"Go  to  sleep,"  said  Rennie.  "I'll  wake  you  after  a 
while." 

Angus  went  to  sleep  instantly  and  gratefully.  He 
woke  some  hours  later  with  Rennie's  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"It'll  be  light  in  two  hours,  and  I'm  pinchin'  myself 
to  keep  awake.  You're  awake  for  sure,  are  you  ?  All 
right." 

He  settled  himself  in  his  blankets,  sighed  and  slept 
like  a  tired  dog.  Angus  sat  up.  The  night  which  had 


WATCHING  205 

been  bright  with  stars  was  now  overcast,  and  a  wind  was 
blowing.  He  could  hear  it  straining  through  the  tree 
tops  and  booming  back  in  the  hills.  The  creek  roared 
and  brawled  noisily.  A  couple  of  horned  owls  hooted 
at  their  hunting  in  the  timber.  There  were  noises  close 
at  hand;  the  faint,  intermittent  gurgle  of  water,  little 
rustlings  of  grasses  and  leaves,  the  occasional  scurry  of 
tiny  feet,  the  buzz  and  click  of  insects.  He  had  a  hard 
job  to  fight  off  sleep.  But  suddenly  a  sound  which  did 
not  blend  with  the  natural  voices  of  the  night  drove  every 
bit  of  drowsiness  out  of  him. 

It  was  faint,  like  the  clink  of  metal  on  stone.  While 
Angus  listened  it  was  repeated.  He  touched  Rennie. 
Instantly  the  latter's  breathing  stopped  and  changed. 

"Somethin1  doing'?" 

"Listen!" 

Clink,  clink,  clang !    Down  the  wind  came  the  sound. 

"It's  on  the  next  sidehill,"  said  Rennie.  "Rippin'  the 
ditch  out,  or  makin'  a  hole  for  a  shot.  She's  a  worse 
hill  than  this,  too."  He  rose,  shook  himself,  and  buckled 
on  his  belt.  "We'll  hold  'em  up.  Sneak  up  as  close  as 
we  can,  and  tell  'em  to  h'ist  their  paws." 

"Suppose  they  don't,"  said  Angus,  slipping  a  couple 
of  shells  into  the  breech  of  his  gun. 

"When  you  tell  a  feller  to  put  'em  up  and  he  don't, 
there's  only  one  thing  to  do ;  'cause  there's  only  one  thing 
he's  goin'  to  do,  and  you  got  to  beat  him  to  it." 

The  ditch,  leaving  the  sidehill  with  the  new  flume, 
crossed  the  end  of  a  flat  and  struck  another  sidehill. 
This  was  brushy  halfway  to  the  top,  marking  the  track 
of  an  old  slide  of  many  years  before.  But  above  it, 
where  the  ancient  slide  had  started,  the  bank  rose  sheer, 
overhanging.  As  they  struck  the  flat  they  heard  more 
plainly  the  clink  of  tools. 


"Right  under  where  that  old  slip  hangs,"  Rennie 
deducted.  "That's  the  place  'd  make  most  trouble  to 
fix.  It's  a  darn  sight  worse  than  what  we  did  fix. 
Now—" 

His  words  were  interrupted  by  the  shrill  blast  of  a 
whistle  from  somewhere  above.  It  was  repeated,  and 
from  where  the  sounds  of  work  had  been  came  the  crash 
of  brush.  Rennie  swore,  and  a  gun  seemed  to  leap  into 
his  hand. 

"Their  lookout  seen  us  on  this  blasted  flat!"  he  cried. 
"They're  climbin'  the  hill.  If  we  had  any  sense — 
Come  on!  Maybe  we  can  head  'em  off!" 

They  rushed  at  the  steep,  brush-covered  hill.  To  their 
right,  but  invisible,  others  seemed  to  be  climbing  also. 
Suddenly  from  above  a  gun  barked,  and  a  bullet  drilled 
above  Angus'  head  and  spatted  on  a  rock  below.  Again 
a  spurt  of  fire  lanced  the  night,  and  another  bullet 
buzzed,  this  time  to  the  left. 

Angus  had  never  been  shot  at  before.  He  had  sup- 
posed that  he  would  be  nervous  if  ever  called  on  to 
stand  fire.  But  actually  his  main  feeling  was  indignation 
that  any  one  could  shoot  at  him.  And  just  as  auto- 
matically and  unthinkingly  as  he  was  accustomed  to 
swing  on  a  bird,  he  sent  a  charge  of  shot  at  the  second 
flash  of  the  gun.  But  a  third  shot  answered  and  he 
fired  again,  and  broke  the  twelve  gauge  and  shoved  in 
fresh  shells,  and  started  forward,  only  to  be  pulled  back 
by  Rennie. 

"There  ain't  no  cover  ahead.     You'll  get  plugged." 

"But  they'll  get  away!" 

"Well,  so  '11  you,"  Dave  told  him;  "but  if  you  go 
crowdin'  up  without  cover  somebody  '11  have  to  pack  you 
home.  Have  sense !  And  lay  down.  You're  so  darn 
big  you'll  stop  something  if  you  keep  standin'  up !" 


WATCHING  207 

Angus  dropped  beside  him  in  a  little  hollow,  and  a 
bullet  droned  through  the  space  his  body  had  just 
occupied. 

"Told  you  so,"  Rennie  grunted.  "There's  one  man 
up  there  savvies  downhill  shootin'.  If  I  could — " 
The  gun  in  his  hand  leaped  twice  so  quickly  that  the 
reports  almost  blended.  "Don't  believe  I  touched  him. 
Outa  practice  with  a  belt  gun.  Dark  besides.  Scatter 
some  shot  around  near  the  top." 

Angus  used  half  a  dozen  shells,  guessing  as  best  he 
could.  A  shot  or  two  came  back.  Rennie  suddenly 
turned  loose  both  his  guns  in  a  fusillade,  and  for  an 
instant  Angus  saw  or  thought  he  saw  moving  figures 
silhouetted  against  the  sky  on  the  hill's  rim.  At  these, 
he  let  go  both  barrels.  Dave,  swinging  out  the  empty 
cylinders  of  his  guns,  swore. 

"Darn  'f  I  b'lieve  we've  touched  hide  nor  hair.  They 
got  horses  up  there.  What  darn  fools  we  was  to  camp 
down  in  this  bottom.  There  they  go  now." 

Angus  could  hear  the  faint  drumming  of  hoofs  over 
the  hill.  There  was  nothing  to  be  done  about  it.  Dis- 
gusted they  went  back  to  their  blankets,  but  not  to 
sleep,  and  with  dawn  they  returned  to  investigate. 

An  endeavor  had  been  made  to  tear  out  the  wall  of 
the  ditch,  and  above  it  a  hole  had  been  started,  appar- 
ently with  intent  to  use  powder.  A  shot  there  would 
have  split  off  a  section  of  the  precipitous  bank,  and 
brought  it  down,  trees  and  all,  into  the  ditch.  Angus, 
surveying  these  things  with  lowering  brow,  saw  Rennie 
stoop  and  pick  up  something. 

"What  have  you  got  there?"  the  latter  asked. 

Without  a  word  Rennie  handed  him  an  old,  stag- 
handled  jack-knife.  Angus  knew  it  very  well.  He  him- 
self had  given  it  to  his  brother,  Turkey. 


208        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Angus  stared  at  the  knife,  at  first  blankly  and  then 
with  swiftly  blackening  brow.  He  heard  Dave's  voice 
as  from  a  distance. 

"Now  don't  go  off  at  half-cock,  Angus.     Maybe — " 

"You  know  the  knife,"  he  said,  his  own  voice  sound- 
ing strange  in  his  ears. 

"Well,  that  don't  say  Turkey  was  in  this.  Maybe 
he  lost  it,  and  somebody — " 

"Quit  lying  to  yourself!" 

"By  gosh,  Angus,  I'll  bet  Turkey  don't  know  a  darn 
thing—" 

But  Angus  was  not  listening.  Out  of  the  glory  of 
the  sun  rising  over  the  ranges,  one  of  the  black  moods 
of  the  Black  Mackays  descended  on  him.  All  his  life 
he  had  struggled  against  the  hardness  and  bitterness  of 
heart  inherited  from  his  ancestors,  men  dour  and  venge- 
ful, whose  creed  had  been  eye  for  eye  and  tooth  for 
tooth  through  the  clan  feuds  of  the  dim  centuries.  Hard 
and  bitter  men,  these  bygone  Mackays  whose  blood  ran 
in  his  veins,  carrying  the  black  hate  in  the  heart,  even 
brother  against  brother.  There  was  even  that  Mackay 
of  a  dark  memory — and  his  name,  too,  was  Torquil — 
who  after  a  quarrel  with  his  brothers  had  slain  them,  all 
four.  Old  tales,  these,  handed  down  through  the  years, 
losing  or  gaining  in  the  telling,  perhaps,  but  all  stormy 
and  full  of  violence  and  hate  and  revenge.  And  in  all 
of  them  there  was  never  one  of  a  Mackay  who  forgave 
an  injury.  One  and  all  they  brooded  over  wrong  and 
struck  in  their  own  time.  With  them  it  was  not  the 
quick  word  and  blow — though  if  other  tales  were  true 
they  were  quick  enough  with  both — but  the  deep,  sullen, 
undying  resentment  under  injury. 

As  he  thought  of  these  things  with  the  black  mood 
upon  him,  Angus'  heart  hardened  against  his  brother. 


WATCHING  209 

He  did  not  doubt  that  this  was  Turkey's  revenge.  There 
was  his  knife,  and  he  should  account  for  it.  Since  he 
had  not  been  alone  he  should  tell  the  names  of  his  con- 
federates. And  then,  like  the  bitter,  dour  Mackay  he 
was,  Angus  put  the  knife  in  his  pocket  and  turned  a  grim 
but  composed  face  to  Rennie. 

"Maybe  you  are  right,"  he  admitted,  though  he  had 
not  heard  a  word  the  other  had  been  saying.  "Let's 
go  home  and  get  breakfast.  And  say  nothing  at  all  to 
Jean." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

BROTHER  TO   BROTHER 

JEAN  was  left  in  ignorance  as  to  the  occurrences  of 
the  night.  No  further  attempts  were  made  to  inter- 
fere with  the  ditch;  but  the  flume  itself  sagged  in 
the  middle  by  natural  subsidence  of  the  loose  soil,  and 
much  of  it  had  to  be  set  up  again.  Angus  was  sick  at 
heart,  for  the  damage  done  by  the  combination  of  hot 
winds  and  lack  of  water  was  irreparable.  Much  of  his 
crop  would  not  be  worth  cutting. 

And  this,  of  all  times,  was  the  one  chosen  by  Jean 
to  re-open  the  question  of  Turkey's  return  to  the  ranch. 
She  urged  Angus  to  ask  him.  Angus  flatly  refused. 

"He  is  our  brother — our  younger  brother,"  Jean 
urged. 

"If  he  were  fifty  times  my  brother,  I  would  not.  I 
tell  you  he  has  worn  out  my  patience,  and  I  am  glad  he 
went.  He  made  trouble  enough  when  he  was  on  the 
ranch,  and  now — " 

But  suddenly  recollecting  himself  he  broke  off.  Jean's 
face  was  grave. 

"Angus,"  she  said,  "what  has  Turkey  done?" 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  sullenly. 

"That  is  not  the  truth,  Angus." 

"Then  whatever  he  has  done  it  is  more  than  enough. 
Let  it  go  at  that.  I  will  not  talk  about  it  to  you  or 
any  one." 

"The  black  dog  is  on  you,"  Jean  told  him.  "I  have 
seen  it  for  days." 

"And  if  it  is,  your  talk  doesn't  call  it  off,"  Angus 

210 


BROTHER  TO  BROTHER  211 

retorted,  and  left  the  house.  And  that  night,  being  in 
a  worse  mood  than  ever,  he  threw  a  saddle  on  Chief 
and  rode  away  to  have  it  out  with  his  brother. 

Turkey  dwelt  alone  in  a  log  shack  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  town.  Angus  had  never  visited  him,  but  he  knew 
the  place  well  enough.  There  was  a  light  in  the  shack, 
and  after  listening  a  moment  to  make  sure  there  was 
nobody  else  there,  he  knocked.  Turkey's  voice  bade 
him  enter. 

Turkey  was  lying  on  a  bunk  reading  by  the  light  of  a 
lamp  drawn  up  beside  him,  and  his  eyebrows  lifted  as 
he  recognized  his  visitor. 

"It's  you,  is  it?"  he  said. 

"I  have  come  to  talk  to  you,"  said  Angus. 

"Then  you'd  better  sit  down  while  you're  doing  it," 
said  Turkey,  as  he  got  out  of  his  bunk. 

Angus  sat  down.  There  was  but  one  room,  in  which 
Turkey  ate  and  slept.  The  walls  were  decorated  with 
pictures  cut  from  magazines.  A  rifle  and  shotgun  leaned 
in  a  corner  with  a  saddle  beside  them.  At  the  head  of 
Turkey's  bunk  hung  a  bolstered  six-shooter.  The 
place  was  tidy  enough,  save  for  burnt  matches  and  cigar- 
ette butts  which  Turkey  had  carelessly  thrown  down. 

"To  save  time,"  Angus  began,  "I'll  tell  you  that  this 
is  a  show-down."  Turkey's  eyes  narrowed  at  his  tone, 
and  the  old,  latent  hostility  sprang  'to  life  in  them. 

"Then  spread  your  hand,"  he  said.  Angus  took  the 
knife  from  his  pocket  and  tossed  it  on  the  table. 

"That's  yours,  isn't  it?" 

Turkey  picked  up  the  knife,  surprise  in  his  face. 

"You  ought  to  know  it." 

"I  do  know  it." 

Turkey  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "All  right.  Thanks. 
Say  whatever  you  have  to  say,  and  don't  stall." 


2i2        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"I  can  say  that  in  a  few  words,"  Angus  returned.  "It 
is  not  because  you  are  my  brother,  but  only  for  Jean's 
sake  that  I  keep  my  hands  off  you.  Do  yoa  get  that?" 

"I  can  tell  you  another  reason,"  Turkey  retorted, 
his  young  face  hardening,  "which  is  that  I  won't  let  you 
put  your  hands  on  me.  You'll  get  hurt  if  you  try  it. 
Now  go  on." 

"I  want  the  names  of  the  men  who  were  with  you." 

"What  men  ?     With  me  when  ?" 

"You  know  mighty  well,"  Angus  accused  him. 

"All  right,  have  it  your  own  way." 

"I  want  their  names." 

"Then  keep  on  wanting  them,"  Turkey  returned.  "If 
you  think  I  know  what  you  mean,  keep  on  thinking  it. 
Keep  on  having  your  own  way,  same  as  you've  always 
had.  Same  as  you  had  when  you  got  me  to  quit  the 
ranch.  Now  you  can  go  plumb,  understand?" 

"Before  I  leave  here,"  Angus  said,  "you  will  tell  me 
what  I  want  to  know,  or — " 

"Or  what?"  Turkey  demanded. 

"Or  you  will  lie  in  that  bunk  for  a  week  and  be  glad 
to  do  it,"  Angus  finished  grimly.  His  young  brother's 
eyes  closed  down  to  mere  slits. 

"Get  one  thing  straight,"  he  said.  "I'll  take  no 
more  from  you  now  than  I  would  from  a  strahger. 
Remember  what  I  told  you  about  keeping  your  hands 
off  me.  I  mean  it!" 

"And  so  do  I,"  said  Angus  rising.  "No  more  non- 
sense, Turkey.  Will  you  answer  my  question?" 

Turkey  was  on  his  feet  instantly.  He  took  a  step 
backward.  "No,"  he  said;  "I  won't  tell  you  one  damned 
thing.  Keep  away  from  me,  Angus.  Keep  away,  or 
by—" 

Unheeding    the    warning,    Angus    sprang    forward. 


BROTHER  TO  BROTHER  213 

Turkey  dodged,  leaped  back,  and  his  hand  shot  for  the 
gun  hanging  by  his  bunk.  It  came  out  of  its  holster. 
Angus  swung  his  arm  against  it,  and  it  roared  in  his 
ear.  He  grasped  it  as  the  hammer  fell  a  second  time,, 
and  the  firing  pin  pierced  the  web  of  his  hand  between 
thumb  and  finger.  He  ripped  the  weapon  from 
Turkey's  weaker  hands  and  threw  it  away.  Then  he 
lost  control  of  himself  and  let  his  anger  have  full  sway. 

Turkey  was  a  strong,  active  young  fellow,  but  against 
his  brother's  thews  and  bulk  he  was  helpless.  Angus 
did  not  strike  him;  he  poured  his  strength  in  a  flood 
upon  the  body  in  his  grasp,  shaking  and  worrying  it  as 
a  great  dog  might  worry  a  fox.  But  as  the  tremendous 
handling  shook  away  the  last  of  Turkey's  power  of 
resistance,  the  door  opened,  there  were  voices,  a  rush  of 
feet,  a  hard  fist  came  against  Angus'  ear,  and  an  arm 
shot  around  his  neck. 

With  this  assault  sanity  came  to  him.  He  caught  the 
wrist  of  the  arm  and  twisted  it,  and  he  heard  a  yell  of 
pain.  He  thrashed  himself  free,  leaping  back  against 
the  wall. 

The  newcomers  were  Garland,  Blake  French,  Gerald^ 
Larry  and  two  young  men  strangers  to  Angus.  Blake 
French,  nursing  a  twisted  wrist,  cursed  him. 

"By  — ,  he  was  trying  to  murder  Turkey  1"  he 
declared. 

The  younger  Mackay  swayed  forward,  his  face  white 
in  the  lamplight. 

"Shut  up!"  he  said.  "Don't  talk  damned  foolish- 
ness!" 

"He  was  choking  you,"  Garland  cried.  "Somebody 
used  a  gun.  The  room's  full  of  powder  smoke." 

"If  you  don't  like  smoke  the  air's  good  outside," 
Turkey  told  him. 


2i4        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Angus  stared  at  his  young  brother  in  amazement.  He 
had  expected  denunciation. 

"This  isn't  your  put  in — any  of  yous"  Turkey 
declared. 

"But—" 

"But — nothing !"  Turkey  snapped.  "Mind  your  own 
business,  can't  you!  Who  asked  you  to  horn  in?" 

Gerald  grinned,  a  certain  admiration  in  his  lazy  eyes. 

"All  right,  Turkey,  I  get  you  completely.  See  you 
later.  Come  on,  boys." 

When  the  door  closed  behind  them  Turkey  dropped 
into  a  chair,  shoved  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  stared 
at  his  brother. 

"You're  a  husky  devil!"  he  said  after  an  interval  of 
silence.  "What  were  you  trying  to  do — kill  me?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Angus  admitted. 

"If  you  had  been  just  a  shade  slower,"  said  Turkey, 
"I  would  have  blown  your  head  off.  So  I  can't  blame 
you  much.  Well — what  happens  now?" 

"Nothing,"  Angus  replied.  "I'll  be  going."  Getting 
up  he  walked  to  the  door,  his  anger  replaced  by  shame 
and  disgust.  At  the  door  he  turned.  "I  am  sorry," 
he  said,  "and  ashamed  of  myself.  To  prove  it  I  will 
say  what  I  never  thought  to  say,  meaning  it:  Will 
you  come  back  to  the  ranch?  Jean  wants  you.  Maybe 
we  can  make  a  fresh  start." 

Turkey  stared  at  him  in  amazement  for  a  moment. 

"You  didn't  come  here  to  say  that,  did  you?" 

"No,"  Angus  admitted.     "But  Jean  wanted  me  to." 

"Oh,  Jean!"  said  the  younger  man.  "I  get  on  with 
Jean  all  right.  But  you're  doing  it  not  because  Jean 
wants  you  to,  but  to  square  yourself  with  yourself.  You 
always  were  a  sour,  proud  devil,  so  I  know  what  it 
costs  you.  I  won't  crowd  you,  though.  I'm  getting 


BROTHER  TO  BROTHER  215 

along  all  right  this  way,  and  so  are  you.  No,  I  won't  go 
back." 

"Suit  yourself,"  said  Angus.    Turkey  nodded. 

"I  wouldn't  go  back  on  a  bet.  Some  day  you  can 
buy  out  my  share  of  the  ranch  cheap — that  is  if  I  have 
any  share.  That's  up  to  you." 

"When  I  can  afford  it,  I  will  pay  you  what  your  share 
is  worth,"  Angus  told  him.  "Father  left  me  all  he  had, 
because  I  was  the  eldest  and  he  knew  I  would  deal 
fairly.  I  think  it  would  be  fair  if  we  took  a  third  each. 
That  is  what  I  have  always  intended." 

"More  than  fair,"  Turkey  admitted.  "You  have 
done  most  of  the  work.  I'll  hand  you  that  much.  So 
when  the  time  comes,  split  my  third  two  ways.  I'll  take 
one,  and  you  and  Jean  can  take  the  other." 

"You  can  do  what  you  like  with  your  share,"  Angus 
told  him,  "but  of  course  I  will  not  touch  one  cent  of  it. 
Meanwhile  the  ranch  is  increasing  in  value." 

"I  know  all  that,"  Turkey  replied.  "Don't  tell  me 
you're  working  for  me." 

"I  will  tell  you  this,"  said  Angus,  "anything  that 
injures  the  ranch  injures  you." 

Turkey  eyed  him  for  a  moment. 

"Well?" 

"Well — remember  it." 

"I'll  try,"  said  Turkey.  "We  don't  get  along  well 
together.  Best  way  is  not  to  be  together.  So  after  this 
you  keep  plumb  away  from  me,  and  I'll  keep  away  from 
you.  Does  that  go  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Angus.  "And  mind  you  keep  to  that, 
you  and  your  friends.  Let  me  alone,  and  let  the  ranch 
alone!" 

Turkey  stared  at  him,  frowning,  and  half  opened  his 
mouth  in  question,  but  let  it  go  unuttered.  Without 


216        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

another  word  Angus  left  him  and  rode  home  through 
an  overcast  night.  As  he  turned  in  at  the  ranch  gate  a 
drop  struck  his  hand.  As  he  stabled  Chief  it  began  to 
rain  softly  and  steadily.  Angus  Mackay  turned  his  face 
to  the  sky,  and  out  of  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  cursed 
it  and  the  rain  that  had  come  too  late. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FAITH'S  FARM 

ANGUS  was  riding  fast  for  Faith  Winton's  ranch. 
Rain  had  fallen  steadily  for  two  days,  and  was 
still  falling.    The  hills  were  veiled  to  their  bases 
in  low  clouds.      Mists  hung  everywhere,   rising  from 
little  lakes,  hanging  low  over  the  bottoms,  clinging  to 
the  tree-tops  of  the  benchlands.     The  rain  would  do 
good,  undoubtedly,  but  it  could  not  repair  the  damage 
of  the  drouth. 

Angus  had  not  seen  Faith  for  a  fortnight.  As  he 
rode,  head  down  against  the  rain,  half  unconsciously  he 
began  to  picture  unimportant  details.  Of  course,  on 
such  a  beastly  day,  she  would  be  at  home.  There  would 
be  an  open  fire,  and  perhaps  music.  Music  and  an  open 
fire!  The  combination  suited  him.  Perhaps — 

A  live  bomb  landed  beneath  Chief's  feet  with  an 
explosion  of  barking.  The  big  horse,  taken  by  surprise, 
bounded  and  kicked.  And  as  Angus  caught  him  hard 
with  the  rein  and  a  word  picked  at  random  from  a 
vocabulary  suited  to  the  comprehension  of  western 
horses,  he  saw  Faith  Winton. 

She  was  cased  against  the  rain  in  a  long  slicker,  and 
a  tarpaulin  hat  protected  her  fair  head.  Beneath  the 
broad  brim  of  it  her  face,  rosy  and  clear-skinned, 
laughed  up  at  him  as  he  brought  Chief  up  with  a  sud- 
denness which  made  his  hoofs  cut  slithering  grooves  in 
the  slop. 

"Jehu,  the  son  of  Nimshi,  rideth  furiously.  Also  he 
useth  vain  words  to  his  steed." 

217 


2i8        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Angus  reddened,  for  a  man's  remarks  to  his  horse 
are  in  the  nature  of  confidential  communications. 

"I  didn't  see  you,"  he  said,  dismounting  beside  her. 

"Melord  of  many  acres  honors  the  poor  ranch 
maiden.  Methought  he  had  forgotten  her  existence." 

"You  know  better  than  that." 

"Well,  perhaps  I  do.  I  hope  your  flume  is  all  right 
now.  But  of  course  this  rain — " 

He  did  not  undeceive  her. 

"I  never  expected  to  see  you  out  on  a  day  like  this." 

"Like  this?  Why,  I  never  could  stay  in,  on  a  rainy 
day.  I  must  get  out.  Good  for  the  complexion." 

"I  can  see  the  complexion  part  of  it.  I  wonder  if 
you  know  how  becoming  that  slicker  hat  is?" 

She  laughed  up  at  him.  "Of  course  I  know.  Do 
you  think  I'd  wear  it  if  I  didn't?" 

"I  never  saw  one  on  a  girl  before." 

"No?  They're  supposed  to  be  purely  masculine,  I 
know."  She  cocked  the  hat  on  one  side  and  sang: 

"If  it  be  a  girl  she  shall  wear  a  golden  ring, 
And  if  it  be  a  boy  he  shall  fight  for  his  king, 
With  his  tarpaulin  hat,  and  his  coat  of  navy  blue 
He  shall  pace  the  quarter-deck  as  his  daddy  used  to  do." 

Her  rich  contralto  rang  down  the  misty  aisles  beneath 
the  dripping  firs. 

"Fine !"  Angus  applauded.  "That's  a  great  old  song. 
She  nodded  and  swung  into  the  old,  original  refrain, 
her  voice  taking  on  the  North  Country  burr: 

"O-ho !  it's  hame,  lads,  hame,  an'  it's  hame  we  yet  wull  be — 
Back  thegither  scatheless  in  the  North  Countree ; 
Hame  wi'  wives  an'   bairns  an'  sweethearts  in  our  ain 

countree — 

Whaur  the  ash,  an'  the  oak,  an*  the  bonnie  hazel  tree, 
They  be  all  a-growin'  green  in  our  ain  countree." 


FAITH'S  FARM  219 

"I  like  those  old  songs,"  Angus  approved. 

"So  do  I.  Modern  songs  seem  to  me  cheap  things, 
written  just  to  sell.  But  the  old  ones — the  real,  old 
songs  that  were  the  songs  of  generations  before  us — 
weren't  really  written  at  all.  Somehow,  when  I  sing 
them  I  feel  that  I  am  almost  touching  the  spirits  of  those 
who  sang  them  many  years  ago."  She  stopped  abruptly. 
"And  now  you'll  think  I'm  silly!" 

"Not  a  bit.    Spirits !    Old  Murdoch  McGillivray — " 

"Who  was  he?" 

"A  friend  of  my  father's.    He  had  the  gift." 

"The  gift?" 

"I  mean  the  second  sight." 

"You  believe  in  that?" 

"Well,  he  foretold  his  own  death." 

"Not  really?" 

"It  comes  to  the  same  thing.  The  last  night  he  was  at 
our  house  he  was  playing  the  pipes,  and  suddenly  he 
stopped  and  would  play  no  more.  Before  he  left  he  told 
my  father  he  had  seen  himself  lying  dead  beside  running 
water.  A  week  after  that  they  found  him  dead  beside 
the  creek.  What  would  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Faith  admitted.  "It's  a  thin  veil, 
and  some  may  see  beyond."  She  shivered.  "I  wish  you 
had  the  second  sight  yourself.  Then  you  might  tell  me 
what  to  do." 

"About  what?"  he  asked. 

"Uncle  Godfrey  has  made  me  an  offer  for  my  land, 
and  I  don't  know  whether  to  accept  it  or  not." 

"Will  he  give  you  a  fair  price?" 

"He  offers  the  price  paid  for  the  land  and  the  cost 
of  the  improvements  I  have  made." 

It  seemed  to  Angus  that  Godfrey  French  had  some 
conscience  left.  But  it  might  be  less  conscience  than 


220        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

fear  that  the  girl  would  find  out  how  he  had  cheated  her 
father.  Restitution  was  practically  forced  on  him  if  he 
had  the  money  to  make  good,  and  apparently,  in  spite 
of  what  Judge  Riley  had  said,  he  had. 

"I  would  take  his  offer,"  Angus  advised  reluctantly, 
for  it  meant  that  he  would  lose  his  neighbor. 

"Why?" 

"Why?  Why,  I've  always  told  you  you  can't  make 
a  success  of  ranching." 

"And  I've  never  admitted  it.  I'm  gaining  experience. 
And  land  is  going  up." 

"Some  land." 

"Then  why  not  this?  What  is  the  matter  with  my 
land?" 

Angus  evaded  the  direct  challenge.  "The  place  is  too 
big  for  you.  There's  a  lot  of  it,  like  that  little,  round 
mountain,  that's  no  good  at  all." 

"Which  is  directly  against  your  contention  that  the 
place  is  too  big  for  me.  But  if  this  land  is  worth  what 
was  paid  for  it,  it  should  be  worth  more  to-day." 

Suddenly  Angus  began  to  wonder  what  had  spurred 
French's  conscience. 

"Why  does  he  want  to  buy?'1 

"Partly,  he  says,  to  take  a  white  elephant  off  my 
hands;  and  partly  for  Blake." 

"For  Blake?"  Angus  exclaimed  in  amazement. 

"Blake  wants  a  ranch  of  his  own.  You  don't  believe 
it?" 

"Not  a  word  of  it." 

"Perhaps  Uncle  Godfrey  is  merely  Inventing  that 
reason.  He  may  have  no  other  than  a  desire  to  take 
the  property  off  my  hands,  if  he  thinks  I  can't  work  it 
profitably." 


FAITH'S  FARM  221 

"It  seems  funny,"  Angus  said,  thoughtfully.  "If  he 
wants  to  buy  for  Blake  he  may  offer  more.  I  don't 
think,  after  all,  I'd  be  in  a  hurry  to  decide." 

"I'll  take  that  advice,  and  wait.  But  here  we  are  at 
the  house.  Put  Chief  in  the  stable.  You'll  stay  for 
supper,  of  course." 

Angus  stayed.  But  all  evening  he  was  preoccupied. 
Again  and  again  he  went  over  the  puzzle.  Why  did 
Godfrey  French  want  to  buy  that  dry  ranch?  Why 
had  he  given  a  reason  which  was  not  a  reason?  Why 
had  he  lied  about  Blake?  He  could  find  no  satisfac- 
tory answers  to  these  questions. 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  the  unexpected 
appearance  of  Blake  himself,  and  Blake  was  obviously 
half-drunk.  He  acknowledged  Angus'  presence  with  a 
nod  and  a  growl,  and  thereafter  ignored  him,  devoting 
himself  to  Faith.  His  attitude  toward  her  was  familiar, 
and  when  at  his  request  she  went  to  the  piano  glad  to 
escape  his  conversation,  he  leaned  over  her,  placing  a 
hand  on  her  shoulder,  an  action  which  made  Angus 
long  to  break  his  neck.  But  she  rose  from  the  piano. 

"No,  I  won't  play  any  more.  You  must  have  some 
refreshments.  Tea,  coffee  or  cocoa?" 

"Not  strong  on  any  of  'em,"  said  Blake.  "But  all 
right  if  you  make  'em.  Drink  anything  you  make,  li'l 
girl!" 

Without  reply  Faith  left  the  room,  and  without  in- 
vitation Angus  followed  her.  In  the  hall  she  turned 
fury  blazing  in  her  eyes. 

"He's  disgusting!" 

"Shall  I  send  him  home?" 

"He  wouldn't  go.     I  wish  he  would." 

"I  can  make  him  go,"  Angus  said  hopefully.  "I'd 
like  to." 


222        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"No,  no,  that  wouldn't  do.  I'll  just  have  to  put  up 
with  him.  Perhaps  he'll  be  better.  Why,  there's  some- 
body in  the  kitchen.  I  didn't  know  Mrs.  Foley  had 
a  visitor.  Why,  it's  your  man,  Gus !" 

Gus  was  established  in  a  chair  which  he  had  balanced 
on  its  hind  legs  against  the  wall.  Around  its  front  legs 
his  huge  feet  were  hooked.  A  pipe  was  clenched  in 
his  teeth,  and  on  his  face  was  placid  content. 

"Yaas,"  he  announced,  "Ay  ban  purty  gude  man  on 
a  rench.  Ay  roon  dat  rench  for  Engus,  yoost  like  Ay 
roon  him  for  hes  fader." 

"Ye  run  th'  ranch  fr  th'  ould  man,  did  ye?"  Mrs. 
Foley  commented. 

"Sure,"  Gus  affirmed.  "Me  and  him  we  roon  him. 
Engus,  he  don't  know  much  about  a  rench.  If  it  ent  for 
me,  Ay  tank  he  mek  dam'  fule  out  of  the  whole  t'ing." 

"Gawd,  but  ye  hate  yerself !"  said  his  auditor.  "If 
ye  know  so  much,  why  ain't  ye  got.  a  half  section  or 
bether  of  yer  own,  instid  of  dhrillin'  along  a  hired 
man?" 

"Veil,  Ay  don't  see  yoost  vat  Ay  like,"  Gus  explained. 
"Ay  mek  gude  money." 

"Who  gets  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Foley.     "Th'  barkeep?" 

Big  Gus  grinned.  "Mebbe  he  gat  some.  But  Ay  got 
a  stake  saved  up.  Ven  Ay  see  a  gude  rench  mebbe  Ay 
buy  him.  But  a  faller  alone  on  a  rench  haf  purty  hard 
time.  He  needs  a  woman  to  cook  and  vash  by  him." 

"Is  that  so?"  snorted  Mrs.  Foley.  "But,  be  me  sowl, 
I  b'lieve  ye're  tellin'  the  stark,  naked  trut'  as  ye  see  ut. 
That's  all  the  loikes  iv  yez  sees  in  a  woman." 

"Soome  time,"  said  Gus  reflectively,  "mebbe  Ay  gat 
me  a  voman." 

"Hiven  help  her!"  said  Mrs.  Foley  piously.  Gus 
surveyed  her  calmly. 


FAITH'S  FARM  223 

"If  Ay  gat  a  voman,"  he  announced,  "Ay  skall  gat 
one  dat  ent  no  fule." 

"Any  woman  ye  get  will  be,"  Mrs.  Foley  retorted 
with  a  meaning  which  got  past  Gus  entirely. 

"Veil,  Ay  don't  know,"  he  returned.  "Some  vomans 
is  gat  soome  sense  ven  dey  gat  old  enough.  Ay  don't 
vant  no  good-lookin'  young  dancin'  girl  dat  don't  know 
how  to  cook.  Ay  gat  me  soome  day  a  rench,  and  a  gude 
strong  voman  like  you,  and  settle  down." 

Faith  smothered  her  mirth  with  difficulty.  "There's 
a  pointer  for  you,  Angus!"  she  whispered. 

"Mrs.  Foley  will  murder  him  now,"  he  returned. 

"Ye  have  ut  down  fine,"  Mrs.  Foley  snorted,  "an'  all 
I  hope  is  that  ye  get  a  woman  that'll  lay  ye  out  wid  a 
rowlin'  pin  in  life,  an'  wid  a  cleaner  shirt  nor  ye  have  on 
now,  when  yer  time  comes.  An'  ut's  me  that's  lit 
candles,  head  an'  feet,  for  foour.men  already.  Though 
belike  ut's  no  candles  ye'll  have  to  light  yer  way  up  or 
down.  Phwat  belief  are  ye,  ye  big  Swede?" 

Gus  scratched  his  head  and  pondered. 

"Ay  vote  democrat  in  Meenneesota,"  he  replied,  "but 
Ay  tank  Ay  ban  socialist  now." 

"Agh-r-r!"  snarled  Mrs.  Foley.  "I  mean  phwat 
religion  are  ye,  or  ain't  ye?" 

Gus  scratched  his  head  again. 

"Ay  tank  mebbe  Ay  ban  Christian,"  he  said  doubt- 
fully. 

"Ay  tank  mebbe  ye're  a  Scandahoovian  haythen," 
Mrs.  Foley  mimicked. 

But  the  entrance  of  Faith  and  Angus  cut  short  her 
further  theological  research.  Faith  explained  her  wants. 

"It's  for  Blake  French,  Mary,"  she  said.  "He's— 
well,  we  thought  he  might  feel  better  if — " 

"Is  he  dhrunk,  bad  scran  till  him?" 


224        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Half,"  Angus  nodded. 

"Then,  instid  of  feedin'  him  why  don't  ye  t'run  him 
out?" 

"I'd  be  glad  to,  but- 

"No,  no,"  Faith  broke  in,  "he  may  be  better — " 

"A  bad  actor  an'  a  raw  wan  is  that  same  lad,"  Mrs. 
Foley  announced  with  conviction,  "an'  comin'  around 
here  too  much.  I  am  not  yer  mother,  but  if  I  was — " 

"Please,  Mary!"  Faith  cried,  her  cheeks  scarlet. 

"Well,  well,"  Mrs.  Foley  observed,  "coffee  an'  pickles 
is  th'  best  thing  f'r  him,  barrin'  p'ison.  Go  yer  ways,  an' 
I'll  bring  ut  in  whin  ready." 

They  returned  to  the  living  room  and  the  society  of 
Blake.  He  met  them  with  a  scowl.  He  chose  to  inter- 
pret the  fact  that  he  had  been  left  alone  in  the  light  of 
an  insult.  He  was  surly,  glaring  at  Angus.  The  coffee, 
cold  meat  and  pickles  which  presently  appeared  did  not 
change  his  mood.  The  liquor  dying  in  him  left  a  full- 
sized  grouch  as  a  legacy. 

Angus  ignored  his  attitude.  Faith  tried  to  make 
conversation,  but  it  was  a  failure.  Time  passed  and  it 
grew  late.  Apparently  Blake  was  waiting  out  Angus. 
The  latter  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  he  had  no 
intention  of  leaving  Blake  behind  him.  Finally,  how- 
ever, he  was  forced  to  make  a  move.  He  bade  Faith 
good  night.  She  turned  to  Blake. 

"Good  night,  Blake." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  going  yet,"  he  announced. 

"It's  late,  Blake,  and  I'm  tired." 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Not  to-night,  please.     Come  to-morrow." 

"No,  I'll  talk  to  you  to-night." 

"Not  to-night,  Blake." 

"Well,  you  will,"  Blake  declared  with  an  oath.   "Try- 


FAITH'S  FARM  225 

ing  to  get  rid  of  me,  are  you?  And  I  suppose  thp 
Mackay — " 

"That  will  do  now,"  Angus  interrupted.  "Be  care- 
iful  what  you  say." 

"Say!"  Blake  roared,  his  temper  getting  the  better' 
of  his  prudence,  "I'll  say  what  I  like.  What  business 
have  you  hanging  around  here  ?  It's  time — " 

"It's  time  you  went,"  Ar.gus  told  him,  "and  you're 
going,  do  you  savvy?  Come  along,  or  I'll  take  you." 

"You — "  Blake  began,  but  got  no  further,  for  Angus 
slapped  the  words  back  against  his  teeth  and  caught 
him  by  wrist  and  collar. 

The  struggle  was  short  and  sharp.  A  couple  of 
chairs  went  over.  And  then  Angus  got  his  grip. 

"Give  him  th'  bummer's  run!"  shrieked  Mrs.  Foley 
from  the  door. 

"Open  the  front  door!"  Angus  commanded  Gus. 

When  it  was  open  he  shot  Blake  through  with  a  rush 
and  outside  released  him. 

"Now,  Blake  French,  I  want  to  tell  you  something," 
he  said.  "You  have  a  dirty  tongue  in  your  head.  See 
that  you  keep  it  between  your  teeth,  and  mind  that  never 
again  do  you  come  here  drunk.  For  as  sure  as  you  do 
and  I  hear  of  it,  I  will  break  half  the  bones  in  your  body. 
Is  that  plain  enough  for  you?" 

Blake  swore  deeply.  "I'll  get  you  for  this,"  he 
threatened. 

"Then  get  me  right,"  said  Angus,  "for  the  next  time 
I  lay  my  hands  on  you  I  will  break  you.  Remember 
that." 

Riding  homeward  beside  Gus  he  thought  over  the 
events  of  the  evening.  It  seemed  fated  that  he  should 
lock  horns  with  Blake.  He  regretted  that  he  had  not 
thrown  him  out  sooner.  For  the  latter's  threat  he  did 


226        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

not  care  at  all.  As  he  looked  at  it  Blake  had  not  enough 
sand  to  make  his  words  good. 

"Ay  tank,"  said  Gus,  "dat  faller,  Blake,  he'd  do 
purty  dirty  trick." 

"Maybe." 

Gus  was  silent  for  a  mile. 

"Dat's  purty  fine  voman,"  he  announced. 

"Yes,"  Angus  agreed  absently,  "Miss  Wlnton  is  a 
fine  girl." 

"Ay  ent  mean  her,"  said  Gus;  "Ay  mean  dae  Irish 
voman." 

Angus  grinned  in  the  darkness.  "Sure,"  he  said, 
"she's  a  fine,  strong  woman." 

Gus  sighed. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  DEMAND  AND  AN  ANSWER 

A  FEW  days  after  the  episode  with  Blake,  Angus 
busy  in  his  workshop  ironing  a  set  of  whiffletrees, 
had  a  visit  from  Godfrey  French.    French  made 
the  reason  of  it  plain  at  once. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "that  I  have  offered  to  buy  my 
niece's  land.  She  doesn't  want  to  sell,  and  in  that  I 
am  under  the  impression  that  she  is  acting  on  your 
advice?  Is  that  so?" 

"At  first  I  advised  her  to  sell,"  Angus  told  him,  "but 
when  I  thought  it  over  it  seemed  to  me  she  shouldn't 
be  in  a  hurry." 

French  studied  him  for  a  moment.  "What  made 
you  alter  your  advice?" 

"It  doesn't  pay  to  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry  to  sell." 

"And  sometimes  it  doesn't  pay  to  refuse  a  fair  offer. 
Now  I  was  always  opposed  to  this  foolish  idea  of  hers 
that  she  could  ranch,  but  I  couldn't  prevent  her  doing 
it.  I  made  up  my  mind,  however,  that  she  should  not 
lose  by  her  play;  that  is  that  I  would  take  the  place  off 
her  hands  at  cost,  plus  whatever  she  nad  spent  on 
improvements,  providing  these  were  not  too  expensive. 
I  can  do  that  now,  but  I  can't  pay  for  more  improve- 
ments, because  I  am  not  a  rich  man,  and  I  can't  keep 
the  offer  open  indefinitely.  She  must  make  her  choice 
now.  And  so,  as  she  seems  to  rely  on  your  opinion,  I 
come  to  you.  I  hope  you  will  persuade  her  to  take  my 
offer  and  give  up  the  absurd  idea  of  ranching." 

Angus  thought  as  rapidly  as  he  could. 

227 


228         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"She  told  me  you  wanted  to  buy  the  place  for  Blake." 

French  gave  him  a  swift,  keen  glance  of  scrutiny. 

"And  you  didn't  believe  it?" 

"No,"  Angus  admitted,  "I  didn't." 

French  laughed.  "And  not  believing  it  you  drew  the 
natural  conclusion  that  I  had  some  other  motive.  Well, 
I  will  be  quite  frank  with  you:  If  I  had  said  I  wanted 
to  buy  merely  to  take  the  property  off  her  hands  she 
would  not  have  allowed  me  to  do  it.  But  what  I  said 
about  Blake  is  partly  true.  I  don't  know  that  he  him- 
self wants  to  ranch — but  I  want  him  to  settle  down. 
So  that  is  the  situation." 

Once  more  Angus  did  some  swift  thinking. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  say  about  it,"  he  admitted 
frankly. 

French's  eyes  narrowed  a  trifle  in  suspicion. 

"Do  you  think  she  can  succeed — make  the  ranch  pay 
eventually?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  think  the  land  is  worth  more  than  I  have 
offered?" 

"I  don't  know  why  it  should  be." 

"Then  why  not  advise  her  to  get  rid  of  it?" 

"Because,"  Angus  told  him,  "there  are  some  things 
I  don't  understand  at  all." 

"For  instance?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place  the  price  her  father  paid  was 
much  more  than  the  land  was  worth  at  the  time." 

"Doesn't  that  make  my  offer  all  the  fairer?" 

"I  don't  understand  how  it  was  paid  at  all.  The 
land  wasn't  worth  half  of  it  then." 

"That  is  a  matter  of  opinion." 

"There  is  no  opinion  about  it.  It's  a  matter  of  fact. 
Just  as  good  land  could  have  been  bought  for  two  or 


A  DEMAND  AND  AN  ANSWER  229 

three  dollars  an  acre.  And  yet  you  invested  Winton's 
money  in  this  at  ten  dollars." 

"Excuse  me,  but  Idid  nothing  of  the  sort.  Winton 
had  seen  the  land,  wanted  it,  and  was  looking  for  some- 
thing to  hold  for  years.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  advised 
him  not  to  buy,  because  I  considered  the  land  too  far 
back  to  be  readily  salable  if  he  ever  wished  to  dispose 
of  it.  But  he  instructed  me  to  buy  at  the  price  at  which 
it  was  held.  I  can  show  you  his  letter  to  that  effect." 

As  this  was  entirely  different  from  Faith's  version, 
Angus  was  taken  aback.  "But,"  he  said,  "last  fall 
Braden  tried  to  sell  part  of  it  to  Chetwood.  How  could 
he  do  that  when  it  wasn't  his?" 

"I  told  Braden  to  try  to  sell  it,  because  the  sale,  if  it 
had  gone  through,  would  have  given  her  in  cash  a  large 
part  of  her  father's  investment,  and  no  doubt  she  would 
have  ratified  it.  I  thought  and  still  think  it  was  the 
best  thing  that  could  be  done.  I  understand  that  you 
were  responsible  for  that  sale  falling  through." 

"It's  a  dry  ranch,  except  for  the  spring." 

"Nonsense !    There's  a  water  record." 

"That  record  is  more  nonsense.  You  ought  to  know 
that  if  you  are  thinking  of  buying  the  place  for  Blake." 

"I  take  that  risk  when  I  offer  to  purchase." 

"Yes,"  Angus  admitted,  "and  that's  another  thing  I 
don't  understand." 

French's  gray  brows  drew  together  for  an  instant. 

"If  it  is  in  my  interest  not  to  buy  isn't  it  in  my 
niece's  interest  to  sell  ?" 

"It  looks  like  it,"  Angus  admitted,  "but  still  I  don't 
understand — " 

"What?"  Godfrey  French  demanded  as  Angus 
paused.  "I  have  explained  as  well  as  I  can.  Do  you 
mean  that  my  explanations  are  not  satisfactory?" 


23o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Perhaps." 

"In  what  particular?" 

"They  don't  seem  to  explain." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  Godfrey  French 
rasped.  "Do  you  mean  that  you  question  the  truth  of 
my  words?"  He  frowned  at  Angus  angrily. 

"You  are  putting  words  into  my  mouth,"  Angus 
replied.  "But  I  mean  just  this:  The  land  was  worth 
only  about  a  quarter  of  what  was  paid  for  it.  You  and 
Braden  both  knew  it.  If  you  had  told  Winton  that, 
he  wouldn't  have  paid  what  he  did  unless  he  was  crazy. 
I  wonder  why  you  let  him  pay  it.  Now  you  want  to 
buy  back  worthless  land,  and  I  wonder  why." 

Their  eyes  met  and  held  each  other.  In  those  of  each 
was  suspicion,  hostility.  French  moistened  dry  lips. 

"I  admire  your  frankness,"  he  said.  "Have  you 
told  my  niece  that  in  your  opinion  the  land  is  worthless?" 

"No." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  would  rather  not  say." 

"I  insist  on  an  answer." 

"Very  well,"  Angus  returned.  "I  did  not  tell  her, 
because  she  would  have  wondered  what  sort  of  a  man 
you  were  to  let  her  father  load  himself  up  with  stuff  like 
that,  and  I  was  not  trying  to  make  trouble." 

Godfrey  French's  fists  clenched.  "Thirty  years  ago," 
he  said,  "for  that  you  should  have  proved  to  me  what 
sort  of  a  man  you  were." 

"Well,  I  can't  help  your  age,"  Angus  retorted.  "I 
would  not  have  told  you,  but  you  would  have  it." 

"There  are  some  things,"  said  Godfrey  French, 
"which  it  seems  you  do  not  understand.  But  understand 
this  very  clearly.  Hereafter  you  will  keep  your  nose  out 
of  things  that  don't  concern  you.  You  will  keep  away 


A  DEMAND  AND  AN  ANSWER  231 

from  me  and  mine,  which  includes  my  niece.  Do  you 
understand  that?" 

"I  hear  what  you  say,"  Angus  returned.  "But 
nobody  but  herself  is  going  to  forbid  me  to  go  to  your 
niece's  ranch." 

"I  forbid  you,"  said  Godfrey  French.  "I  won't  have 
you  hanging  around  there.  I  won't  have  her  name 
coupled  with  yours." 

"I  did  not  know  it  was  being  coupled,"  Angus  said, 
"and  I  do  not  think  it  is.  But  if  it  is — what  then?" 

"What  then!"  Godfrey  French  exclaimed.  "Have 
you  the  consummate  impudence  to  imagine  that  my  niece 
would  think  twice  of  an  ignorant  young  hawbuck  with- 
out birth  or  education?  Bah!  You're  a  young  fool!" 

At  the  words,  entirely  insolent,  vibrant  with  contempt, 
a  hot  fire  of  anger  began  to  blow  within  Angus.  With 
all  his  heart  he  wished  that  Godfrey  French  had  been 
minus  the  thirty  years  he  had  regretted. 

"Those  are  hard  words,"  he  said,  and  it  was  charac- 
teristic of  him  that  as  his  anger  rose  his  voice  was  very 
quiet. 

"True  words,"  Godfrey  French  returned. 

"At  any  rate,"  Angus  told  him,  "I  make  a  clean  living 
by  hard  work." 

"And  I  suppose  you  think  'A  man's  a  man  for  a' 
that,'  "  Godfrey  French  sneered.  "Don't  give  me  any 
rotten  nonsense  about  democracy  and  equality." 

"I  am  not  going  to,"  Angus  replied.  "I  think  myself 
that  every  tub  should  stand  on  its  own  bottom.  But  if, 
as  you  seem  to  think,  there  is  something  in  a  man's 
blood,  then  perhaps  mine  is  as  good  as  your  own." 

"Fine  blood!"  Godfrey  French  commented  with  bit- 
ter irony.  "Wild,  hairy  Highlanders,  caterans  and 
reivers  for  five  hundred  years !" 


23 2         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Ay,"  Angus  Mackay  agreed  with  a  grim  smile,  "and 
maybe  for  five  hundred  years  back  of  that.  But  always 
pretty  men  of  their  hands,  good  friends  and  bad  enemies, 
and  ill  to*frighten  or  drive."  Then,  following  the  cus- 
tom of  his  blood,  he  returned  insult  for  insult.  He 
launched  it  deliberately,  coldly.  "And  it  is  not  claim- 
ing much  for  the  blood  of  a  Mackay  to  say  it  is  as 
good  as  that  which  comes  from  any  shockheaded  kernes 
spawned  by  a  Galway  bog." 

White  to  his  twitching  lips,  Godfrey  French  struck 
him  in  the  face.  Angus  caught  his  hand,  but  made  no 
attempt  to  return  the  blow. 

"I  think  you  had  better  go,"  he  said.  "You  have  too 
many  years  on  your  head  for  me." 

Godfrey  French  stepped  back. 

"That  is  my  misfortune,"  he  said.  "Well — I  have 
sons.  Remember  what  I  told  you,  young  man." 

"I  will  remember,"  Angus  said,  "and  I  will  do  as  I 
please.  If  your  sons  try  to  make  your  words  good  they 
will  find  a  rough  piece  of  road." 

He  watched  Godfrey  French  drive  away,  and  turned 
back  to  his  work.  But  presently  he  gave  it  up,  sat  down 
and  stared  at  vacancy.  For  an  hour  he  sat,  and  was 
aroused  from  his  brown  study  by  Jean. 

"I've  called  and  called  you,"  she  told  him. 

"For  what?" 

"For  supper,  of  course/  Heavens,  Angus,  what's 
wrong  that  you  forget  your  meals?" 

He  did  not  answer  for  a  moment. 

"I  have  been  making  up  my  mind  about  something." 

"About  what?" 

"Just  something  I  am  going  to  do.  I  will  tell  you 
later." 

He  ate  supper,  and  immediately  saddled  Chief  and 


A  DEMAND  AND  AN  ANSWER  233 

rode  away  in  the  direction  of  Faith  Winton's  ranch. 

Faith  listened  in  amazement  as  he  told  her  of  the  high 
price  her  father  had  paid;  of  the  abortive  sale  and  his 
discovery  that  the  land  was  non-irrigable;  and  finally 
of  French's  request  that  he  should  advise  her  to  sell. 

"But  why  didn't  you  tell  me  these  things  before  ?" 

"I  could  not  very  well  tell  you  while  you  were  under 
his  roof." 

"No,  I  suppose  not.  You  are  sure  of  what  you  say — 
that  the  land  could  have  been  bought  for  so  much  less 
then,  and  that  I  can't  get  water  on  it  now?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Then  why  does  he  want  to  buy  the  ranch  now?" 

"I  wish  I  knew." 

"I  am  going  to  find  out  before  I  sell  it.  He  lied 
about  Blake,  and  I  don't  believe  he  just  wants  to  take 
it  off  my  hands.  There  is  some  other  reason." 

"I  think  so  myself,  but  I  don't  know  what  it  is. 
There  is  something  else  though.  We  had  a  few  hard 
words,  and  the  upshot  of  the  whole  thing  was  that  he 
forbade  me  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him  or  his, 
I  suppose  he  has  that  right.  But  also  he  forbade  me 
to  come  here." 

The  girl  stared  at  him,  amazed. 

"Is  he  crazy?     He  has  no  right — " 

"So  I  told  him." 

"And  you  will  always  be  welcome,  while  the  ranch- 
is  mine,  or  beneath  any  roof  that  is  mine." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  simply. 

"But  this  is  beyond  everything!"  she  flamed  indig- 
nantly. "I  am  not  a  child.  I  make  my  own  friends.  I 
will  tell  him—" 

"He  is  an  old  man.  Pay  no  attention  to  it.  I  am 
sorry,  now,  that  I  said  to  him  what  I  did." 


234          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"What  did  you  quarrel  about?     Tell  me!" 

"About  the  whole  thing,  I  think." 

"Then  it  was  all  on  my  account.  From  first  to  last, 
I've  made  trouble  for  you.  I  am  sorry." 

"You  needn't  be.  All  the  trouble  you  have  made 
me  is  a  joy." 

"Why — Angus  !"    The  color  rose  in  the  girls'  cheeks. 

"Didn't  you  know  it?" 

"I  know  you  have  been  very — good — to  me." 

"You  have  known  more  than  that,"  he  said. 

"No,  good  heavens,  no !    Angus — " 

"I  have  only  known  it  myself  since  that  day  in  the 
rain,"  he  interrupted.  "Before  that,  I  thought  I  was 
only  helping  you,  as  I  would  have  helped  any  woman — 
or  man,  either.  But  then  I  knew  it  was  something  else. 
And  to-day  when  Godfrey  French  said  he  would  not 
have  our  names  coupled  together — " 

"Oh!"  the  girl  cried  sharply. 

"And  that  you  would  not  think  twice  of  a  rough, 
uneducated  man  like  myself,"  he  pursued.  "I  decided 
to  find  out  to-night  whether  he  was  right  or  wrong." 

"He  was  wrong!"  she  cried.  "That  is — I  mean — 
that  you  are  not  rough  and  uneducated,  and — " 

"I  am  both,"  Angus  admitted  gravely.  "I  have 
worked  hard  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  what  education  I 
have  I  have  got  for  myself.  In  that  he  was  right.  And 
so  I  find  it  very  hard  to  tell  you  what  I  want  to,  as  a 
woman  should  be  told,  because  words  do  not  come  to 
my  tongue  easily,  and  never  did.  The  thoughts  I  have 
had  I  have  always  kept  to  myself,  for  that,  and  because 
there  was  no  one  who  would  understand  even  if  I  could 
have  put  them  into  words.  And  this  is  all  I  can  say, 
that  I  love  you  as  a  man  loves  one  woman  in  his  lifetime, 
and  I  want  you  for  my  wife.  Is  it  yes  or  no,  Faith?" 


A  DEMAND  AND  AN  ANSWER        235 

"But — Angus — I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing — 
not  really,  I  mean.  You  were  always  kind,  helpful, 
but  never  like — like — " 

"Never  like  a  lover?" 

"Well— no." 

Angus  laid  his  great  hands  on  her  shoulders.  The 
ordinary  grimness  of  his  face  was  lacking.  It  was 
replaced  by  something  ineffably  tender.  Slowly  he  drew 
her  to  him  until  they  stood  breast  to  breast. 

"I  can  be  like  a  lover,  Faith,"  he  said,  "if  you  will 
have  it  so." 

For  a  long  moment  Faith  Winton's  clear  eyes  looked 
into  his,  and  then  went  blank  as  she  searched  her  own 
heart  for  an  answer  and  found  it. 

"I  will  have  it  so — dearl"  she  said. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CROSS  CURRENTS 

JEAN  MACKAY,  rustling  through  the  house  with 
broom   and   duster   after   breakfast,   came   on   her 
brother  reading  what  at  first  glance  she  took  to  be 
a  magazine.     This  gave  her  what  was  destined  to  be 
the  first  of  a  string  of  surprises,  for  Angus  never  loafed 
around  the  house. 

"Shoo!  Get  out  of  here !"  she  said.  "You'll  get  all 
choked  with  dust.  I  declare  I  don't  know  where  all 
the  dirt  comes  from." 

In  proof  of  her  words  she  raised  a  cloud  which  made 
him  cough.  "Told  you  so,"  she  said.  "Do  go  some- 
where else,  Angus.  You're  only  in  my  way." 

"In  a  minute,"  he  replied,  frowning  at  his  reading. 

"Where  did  you  go  last  night — to  Faith's?" 

"Uh-huh!" 

"You  might  have  asked  me  to  go  along." 

"Huh!" 

"You're  extra  polite  this  morning!"  his  sister  ob- 
served with  irony.  "Whatever  are  you  reading?  Well, 
of  all  things !  A  jeweler's  catalogue  !  What  on  earth — " 

Angus  held  it  out  to  her. 

"Here,"  he  said,  "I  know  nothing  about  such  things. 
Pick  out  a  ring." 

"A  ring!"  Miss  Jean  exclaimed,  astounded.  "I 
don't  want  a  ring.  I  mean  I  can  get  along  without 
one." 

"That's  lucky,"  said  her  brother,  "because  the  ring  I 
want  you  to  pick  out  is  for  Faith." 

236 


CROSS  CURRENTS  237 

"Good  Lord!"  cried  Miss  Jean,  and  fell  limply  upon 
a  couch.  Recovering  herself  she  rushed  upon  him, 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  punctuated  her 
words  with  emphatic  hugs.  "You  big,  old  fraud.  But 
I'm  glad,  really  I  am.  When — where — " 

"Last  night,"  Angus  told  her.  "That  was  what  I 
was  making  up  my  mind  about.  I  didn't  know  whether 
I  should  ask  her  just  now." 

"Why  shouldn't  you?     If  she  cares — " 
"It  wasn't  that.     You  see   I  owe  a   good  deal  of 
money." 

"How  much?"  asked  Jean,  who  knew  little  about  the 
finances  of  the  ranch. 

"Nearly  ten  thousand  dollars." 
"What?"  gasped  Jean.  "Impossible." 
"Nothing  impossible  about  it.  That  includes  the 
principal  of  the  mortgage  father  gave  Braden  when  he 
bought  that  timber  that  was  burnt  out  afterwards.  When 
I  had  to  run  the  ranch  I  couldn't  pay  much  interest,  and 
Braden  carried  it  along.  Then  of  course  there  was  the 
hail  last  year,  and  the  drouth  this.  And  I  had  to  borrow 
money  from  him  on  my  note,  to  pay  something  that 
wasn't  my  fault,  but  couldn't  be  helped.  Now  I  have 
just  had  a  letter  from  Braden  saying  that  the  mortgage 
and  note  are  past  due.  I  suppose  that's  a  matter  of 
form,  and  I  can  make  arrangements  with  him." 

"And  with  all  that  you  sent  me  off  to  get  an  educa- 
tion," said  Jean  bitterly.  "Oh,  I  wish — " 

"That  was  a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket.  Nobody  can 
take  that  away  from  you,  no  matter  what  happens. 
Now  about  this  ring — " 

"Do  you  think  you  should  buy  one — now?" 
"I  would  buy  a  ring  and  a  good  one  now  if  it  took 
my  share  of  the  ranch,"  Angus  declared  frowning.  "You 


238  THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 
will  pick  out  one  that  she  can  wear  in  any  company  at 
all.  Find  out  what  she  prefers,  and  get  one  like  it  but 
a  good  deal  better,  and  never  mind  the  cost.  And  to 
save  trouble,  you  had  better  order  a  wedding  ring  at  the 
same  time." 

"Quick  work!"  beamed  Miss  Jean.  "When  is  the 
wedding?" 

"Wedding?  I  don't  know,"  Angus  admitted.  "We 
didn't  talk  about  that." 

"You're  going  to  buy  a  wedding  ring  and  you  don't 
know  when  you'll  be  married?"  Miss  Jean  cried  scan- 
dalized. 

"Well,  we'll  be  married  some  time.  I  always  order 
more  repair  parts  of  machinery  than  I  want,  and  they 
always  come  in  handy.  So  will  the  ring." 

"Repairs!  Machinery!  Oh,  my  grief!"  ejaculated 
Miss  Jean.  "I  suppose  you  have  a  soul,  but —  Oh, 
well  never  mind!"  She  threw  her  broom  recklessly  at 
a  corner,  and  her  dust  cap  after  it.  "Go  and  saddle 
Pincher  for  me,  will  you?  And  you  men  will  have  to 
get  your  own  dinner.  I'm  going  over  to  spend  the  day 
with  my  sister!" 

When  she  had  gone,  burning  up  the  trail  toward 
Faith's  ranch,  Angus  saddled  Chief  and  rode  to  town, 
taking  with  him  the  notice  he  had  received  from  Mr. 
Braden.  He  looked  upon  it  as  a  matter  of  form,  and 
attached  little  importance  to  it.  With  the  undoubted 
security  of  the  ranch  he  anticipated  no  difficulty  in  secur- 
ing an  extension. 

"Of  course,"  he  said  to  his  creditor,  "I  don't  suppose 
this  means  just  what  it  says." 

"It  means  exactly  what  it  says,"  Mr.  Braden  informed 
him.  "The  loan  is  very  badly  in  arrears,  and  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  to  call  it  in." 


CROSS  CURRENTS  239 

"But  the  security  is  good  for  double  the  money.'* 

"Security  isn't  money.  You  are  away  behind.  Then 
there  is  that  note,  past  due.  I  can't  let  these  things 
run  on  indefinitely." 

"You  always  told  me  not  to  worry  about  interest 
payments." 

"It  doesn't  look  as  if  you  did  worry  about  them.  I 
carried  you  along  because  you  were  a  mere  boy,  and 
under  the  circumstances  I  couldn't  press  for  money. 
But  you  have  increased  your  debt  instead  of  decreasing 
it.  I  have  been  easy,  that's  what  I've  been — too  easy. 
I  can  look  back  at  my  dealings  with  you,"  Mr.  Braden 
continued  with  virtuous  satisfaction,  "and  I  can  truly 
say  that  I  have  dealt  tenderly  with  the — er — fatherless. 
But  of  course  there's  a  limit." 

"Well,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it,  the  only  way  I 
can  pay  up  is  to  get  a  loan  elsewhere." 

"There's  another  way,"  Mr.  Braden  told  him.  "I 
make  the  suggestion  to  help  you  out,  principally.  If 
you  will  sell  the  place  I  will  take  it  over  at  a  fair  price, 
and  pay  you  the  difference  in  cash." 

"I  don't  want  to  sell." 

"Think  it  over.  The  ranch  is  saddled  with  a  heavy 
debt.  You  are  saddled  with  more  than  a  young  man 
should  be  called  on  to  carry.  You  are  the  one  who  will 
have  to  pay,  if  you  keep  the  ranch,  by  your  own  hard 
work.  You  will  be  handicapped  for  years,  deprived  of 
many  things  you  would  otherwise  have.  On  the  other 
'hand,"  Mr.  Braden  continued,  warming  to  his  subject, 
"if  you  sold  this  place  all  debt  would  be  wiped  out,  you 
would  have  a  nice  lump  sum  in  cash,  and  you  would 
be  as  free  as — er — birds.  You  could  take  a  year's  holi- 
day, travel,  or,"  he  added,  seeing  no  signs  of  enthusiasm 
in  Angus'  face,  "you  could  go  into  one  of  the  new  dis- 


THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

tricts  just  opening  up,  buy  virgin  land,  full  of — of — 
er— " 

"Full  of  alkali?"  Angus  suggested  gravely. 

"Alkali!  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Braden  frowning. 
"  'Potentialities'  was  the  word  I  had  in  mind.  Yes,  full 
of  potentialities.  In  a  new  district  you  would  become 
prosperous,  free  from  the  ball  and  chain  of  debt.  That 
is  the  sensible  course.  Now  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"Not  much,"  said  Angus. 

"Huh!  Why  not?"  Mr.  Braden  inquired,  plainly 
disappointed  at  this  reception  of  his  disinterested  advice. 

"Because  I  have  a  good  ranching  proposition  here. 
And  you  wouldn't  pay  what  the  land  will  be  worth  some 
day  if  I  hang  on." 

"What  will  it  be  worth?" 

"About  a  hundred  dollars  an  acre." 

"You're  right,  I  wouldn't  pay  it,"  Mr.  Braden  con- 
curred. "Ridiculous.  I  would  give  you  say  twenty 
dollars,  all  around,  and  that's  more  than  it's  worth." 

"Just  as  it  stands — stock,  implements  and  all?" 

Mr.  Braden  looked  at  Angus,  but  failed  to  read  his 
face. 

"That's  what  I  had  in  mind.  But  if  you  were  making 
a  start  elsewhere  and  needed  some  of  the  implements 
and  stock — why  I  wouldn't  insist.  Say  for  the  land 
alone." 

Angus  laughed. 

"All  right,  laugh !"  said  Mr.  Braden  frowning.  "Go 
and  get  a  new  loan,  then.  And  don't  lose  any  time 
about  it,  either." 

"You  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry." 

"I  never  delay  business  matters,"  Mr.  Braden  replied. 
"Get  your  loan,  and  get  it  at  once.  Otherwise  I  shall 
exercise  the  rights  which  the  mortgage  gives  me." 


CROSS  CURRENTS  241 

"That  is  plain  enough,"  said  Angus. 

"It's  intended  to  be,"  said  Mr.  Braden. 

Thence  Angus  went  to  Judge  Riley's  office  and  told 
him  the  situation.  The  Judge  jotted  figures  on  a  pad. 

"To  clean  up  you  will  want  nearly  eleven  thousand 
dollars,"  he  said.  "That's  a  large  sum  for  this  coun- 
try." 

"The  property  is  worth  three  or  four  times  that." 

"Yes,  on  a  basis  of  land  at  so  much  per  acre.  But 
uncultivated  land  isn't  productive.  You  have  to  pay 
interest  out  of  what  you  grow.  Few  concerns  will  lend 
money  on  raw  land.  Then  you  are  borrowing  to  pay  off 
accumulated  debts,  and  not  to  improve  property,  buy 
stock  or  the  like.  These  things  have  an  important  bear- 
ing. You  may  have  trouble  in  getting  money.  And  I 
think  Braden  will  try  to  see  that  you  have." 

"What  will  he  have  to  do  with  it?" 

"Bless  your  innocence,  he  knows  the  loan  companies 
operating  here,  and  their  appraisers.  They'll  ask  him 
what  sort  of  a  borrower  you  have  been  and  are  apt 
to  be,  and  why  he  is  calling  his  loan  in,  and  he'll  knock 
you  as  hard  as  he  can.  He  doesn't  want  the  loan  paid 
off.  He  wants  to  sell  you  out,  and  buy  the  place  in. 
He  is  still  at  the  old  game.  He'll  try  to  work  it  now 
by  a  mortgage  sale." 

"But  that  would  be  a  public  sale.  He'd  have  to  bid 
against  others." 

"Nobody  in  this  country  has  money  enough  to  pay  a 
fair  price  for  the  ranch  as  a  whole.  That  would  prac- 
tically knock  out  competition.  That's  what  he  is  count- 
ing on." 

"He  hasn't  got  me  yet,"  said  Angus.  "It's  funny, 
but  old  French  is  trying  to  buy  out  Miss  Winton,  too." 
He  told  the  lawyer  of  French's  offer. 


242        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Then  Braden  is  putting  up  the  money  for  French," 
the  lawyer  deduced.  "I  don't  understand  it  any  more 
than  you  do,  but  I  do  know  that  neither  of  these  men 
would  knowingly  buy  anything  valueless.  So  far  as 
your  place  is  concerned,  the  value  is  there.  As  to  the 
other  it  doesn't  seem  to  be.  But  I  think  you  did  right 
in  advising  her  not  to  sell." 

Angus  rode  homeward  thoughtfully.  His  thoughts 
affected  his  pace,  and  so  when  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances he  would  have  been  home,  he  was  little  more 
than  halfway.  Chief  suddenly  pricked  his  ears,  and 
Angus  became  aware  of  Kathleen  French  upon  her 
favorite  horse,  Finn.  She  seemed  to  have  been  riding 
hard,  for  his  coat  was  wet  and  his  flanks  drawn  and 
working. 

"What's  the  hurry?"  he  asked.  She  brushed  her 
loosened  hair  away  from  her  forehead. 

"He  wanted  to  run  and  I  let  him.  I'll  ride  along 
with  you  now." 

"I  suppose  you  know  that  your  father  wouldn't  like 
it?" 

"This  isn't  the  Middle  Ages,"  she  replied  scornfully. 
"These  family  feuds  make  me  tired.  I  have  no  quarrel 
with  you." 

"I  don't  want  to  make  trouble  for  you." 

'You  won't,"  she  told  him.  "I  can  look  after  myself." 

They  descended  a  steep  grade,  which  at  the  bottom 
made  a  sharp  turn  opening  upon  a  flat  through  which 
ran  a  little  creek.  As  they  made  the  turn  they  came 
face  to  face  with  Blake  French,  Gerald  and  Larry.  At 
sight  of  Kathleen  their  faces  expressed  astonishment. 
Blake  uttered  an  oath. 

"What  the  devil  are  you  doing  with  him?"  he 
demanded. 


CROSS  CURRENTS  243 

"Riding  with  Angus  Mackay!"  said  his  sister.  "I'll 
ride  with  any  one  I  like,  when  I  like.  Do  you  get  that, 
Blake  ?  Pull  out.  You're  blocking  the  trail." 

Gerald  French  laughed.  "I  thought  you  were  up 
to  something,  Kit." 

"That's  what  I  thought  about  you,"  she  retorted. 

As  Angus  rode  past  the  French  boys,  who  had  not 
addressed  him  at  all,  he  met  their  eyes.  Their  stares 
were  level,  hard,  insolent.  He  rod  on,  half  angry 
and  much  puzzled.  Kathleen  lifted  her  horse  into  a 
lope  and  he  followed.  Then  she  pulled  to  a  walk. 

The  Boys  didn't  like  you  being  with  me,"  he  said. 

"Never  mind  what  they  like.  I'm  glad  I  was  in 
time — "  She  broke  off,  but  a  sudden  light  dawned  on 
Angus. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed.  "Is  that  what  you  were 
running  your  horse  for?  You  mean  they  were  waiting 
for  me?" 

He  wheeled  Chief  abruptly,  but  more  quickly  she 
spun  Finn  on  his  heels,  blocking  the  back  trail. 

"I  won't  let  you  go  back!"  she  cried. 

"That  was  a  nice  trick  to  play  on  a  man!"  he  told 
her  indignantly. 

"And  that's  a  man  gratitude  I"  she  retorted  bitterly. 

"Gratitude!  I  know  you  meant  well,  and  I  thank 
you.  But  it  looks  as  if  I  had  hidden  behind  your  skirts, 
and  I  am  not  that  kind  of  a  man.  I  am  going  back." 

"You  are  not.  I  won't  have  any  trouble  between 
you  and  the  boys  to-day.  You  said  you  didn't  want 
to  make  trouble.  Well,  then,  don't." 

"I  don't  want  to  make  trouble,  but  I  am  not  going  to 
run  away  from  it.  If  your  brothers  want  to  take  up 
their  father's  quarrel — and  I  am  not  saying  they  haven't 
the  right  to,  mind  you — I  will  meet  them  half  way.  I 


244 

am  not  going  to  be  hunted  by  them  in  a  pack.  I  don't 
have  to  be  rounded  up.  If  there  is  going  to  be  trouble 
J  am  going  to  have  some  say  about  the  time  of  it." 

"And  so  am  I,"  Kathleen  declared.  "I  will  put  a 
stop  to  this." 

"Men's  affairs  must  be  settled  by  men,"  he  told  her. 

"I  believe  you  are  all  savages  at  heart,"  she  said. 
"This  will  blow  over  if  you  will  let  it.  Whether  you 
like  it  or  not,  I  am  going  to  interfere.  I  blame  Blake 
for  this. 

"You  may  be  right.  I  had  to  put  him  out  of  Faith's 
house  the  other  night.  He  was  drunk." 

"Pah!"  said  Blake's  sister  in  disgust.  "I'm  glad 
you  told  me.  He  has  been  going  there  lately,  I  knew. 
Well,  I'll  see  that  he  stops  that." 

"You  need  not  bother.  I  will  look  after  tfhat  myself. 
Faith  won't  be  there  long." 

"Is  she  going  to  sell?     I'm  glad  of  it." 

"I  don't  know  about  selling.  But  she  is  coming  to 
my  ranch." 

"On  a  visit  to  Jean  ?" 

"No,  she  is  going  to  marry  me." 

The  girl  stared  at  him.  He  saw  a  flood  of  color 
rush  to  her  cheeks  and  recede,  leaving  her  face  white. 
Her  strong  hand  gripped  the  saddle  horn  hard. 

"She  is — going — to  marry  you !"  she  said  in  a  voice 
little  more  than  a  whisper. 

"Yes,"  Angus  replied,  "why  shouldn't  she?  She  is 
too  good  for  me,  I  'know,  but  I  hope  you  don't  think, 
like  your  father,  that  I  am  not  fit  to  marry  her." 

Kathleen  French  smiled  with  stiff  lips. 

"What  rot!"  she  said.  "I  didn't  know  my  father 
thought  anything  of  the  kind,  and  certainly  I  don't. 
I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy.  When  did  it  happen?" 


CROSS  CURRENTS  245 

Angus  told  her,  but  it  was  a  subject  on  which  he  did 
not  care  to  enlarge.  Where  the  trail  forked  to  the 
French  ranch  they  parted  and  he  rode  on.  But  if  he 
had  turned  back  and  ridden  half  a  mile  on  the  other 
trail,  and  two  hundred  yards  to  the  right  behind  a  thick 
growth  of  cottonwoods,  he  would  have  seen  a  girl  lying 
on  the  ground,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms,  while  a  big, 
bay  horse  with  a  sweat-dried  coat  stood  by  flicking  the 
flies  and  regarding  his  mistress  wonderingly. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CONSPIRACY 

ON  the  chance  that,  after  all,  water  might  be  got 
on  Faith's  ranch,  Angus  had  his  own  levels 
checked  by  a  surveyor.  The  result  was  to  con- 
firm them.  Thus  most  of  the  level  land  was  undoubt- 
edly worthless  for  agricultural  purposes.  As  for  the 
rest  of  the  property,  it  was  hill  and  coulee  and  included 
the  round  mountain.  Angus  had  ridden  over  it  and 
hunted  through  it  and  he  thought  he  had  nothing  to 
learn  about  it.  He  dismissed  it  with  contempt.  The 
only  reasonable  explanation  of  French's  desire  to  pur- 
chase seemed  to  be  that  he  was  acting  for  Braden  and 
that  Braden  had  some  purchaser  in  view.  That  being 
so,  it  would  pay  to  hold  out  for  a  better  offer. 

So  far  as  his  own  affairs  were  concerned,  the  outlook 
was  not  promising.  His  loan  applications  were  turned 
down  cold  by  various  loan  companies,  as  Judge  Rileyi 
had  feared.  And  one  day  he  received  a  formal  demand 
for  payment  of  mortgage  and  note,  coupled  with  an 
intimation  that,  failing  immediate  payment,  legal  pro- 
ceedings would  follow. 

"Yes,  I  thought  this  was  about  due,"  Judge  Riley 
said  when  Angus  showed  him  the  letter  of  Mr.  Braden's 
lawyers.  "There  are  no  grounds  for  defending  the 
actions,  that  I  know  of." 

"The  money  is  owing,  no  doubt  about  it.  And  I 
can't  pay  it." 

"Then  it  will  have  to  be  realized  upon  the  security. 
I'm  sorry,  my  boy.  I  don't  know  where  you  can  raise  a 

246 


CONSPIRACY  247 

loan.  If  I  had  the  money  I'd  lend  it  to  you  myself, 
but  I  haven't.  Braden  will  get  his  judgments  and  sell." 

Angus  himself  saw  nothing  else  for  it.  This,  then, 
was  the  end  of  his  years  of  work,  of  struggle,  of  self- 
denial.  The  land  he  had  promised  his  father  to  hold 
would  he  sold  and  bid  in  by  Braden  for  a  fraction  of 
its  value.  For  himself,  so  far  as  the  financial  loss  went, 
he  did  not  care  especially.  But  with  it  Jean's  share 
would  be  swallowed  up.  Without  any  fault  of  his  own, 
so  far  as  he  could  see,  he  had  failed  in  his  duty  to  her. 
And  the  thought  was  bitter. 

As  he  walked  down  the  street  his  thoughts  went  back 
over  the  years.  He  could  not  attribute  his  failure  to 
lack  of  hard  work,  to  lack  of  planning,  to  lack  of  care. 
All  these  he  had  given,  without  stint.  The  seasons  had 
been  against  him,  but  they  had  been  against  others. 
He  had  lost  cattle  mysteriously,  but  that  was  merely  an 
incident.  There  was  the  fire  which  had  destroyed  his 
hay,  but  his  own  brother  was  responsible  for  that. 
Finally  there  was  the  ruin  of  his  present  crop  by  the 
destruction  of  the  ditch.  That  was  the  only  definite 
act  of  hostility  on  which  he  could  lay  his  finger.  But 
apart  from  that  he  could  not  have  paid  Braden. 

If  he  was  to  lose  the  ranch  it  did  not  matter  who  had 
wrecked  his  ditch.  Turkey  would  be  hoist  by  his  own 
petard.  Angus  smiled  grimly  at  the  thought  that  his 
brother  had  contributed  to  his  own  loss.  And  just  then 
he  saw  Turkey  going  through  the  door  of  Braden's 
office.  To  Angus  it  was  as  if  a  searchlight  had  been 
turned  upon  a  dark  corner,  as  if  a  switch  had  been  closed 
establishing  a  connection. 

Up  to  that  moment  he  had  seen  no  object,  other  than 
spite,  in  the  wrecking  of  the  ditch.  But  now,  as  things 
were  turning  out  anything  which  injured  him  financially 


243        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

would  further  Braden's  carefully  laid  plans  to  obtain  the 
ranch.  Might  he  not  be  responsible?  There,  at  last, 
was  motive,  the  thing  he  had  sought  vainly. 

The  idea  was  new  and  amazing.  But  once  formed 
it  grew  in  probability.  Would  Turkey  deliberately  lend 
himself  to  a  plan  to  deprive  not  only  Angus  but  Jean 
and  himself  of  the  ranch?  Likely  he  had  not  thought  of 
that.  The  boy  had  been  a  catspaw  without  knowing 
Braden's  ultimate  purpose.  There  were  others  besides 
Braden  in  the  game.  Braden  himself  did  not  do  the 
work  of  destruction;  but  no  doubt  he  had  instigated 
and  paid  for  it.  As  to  these  others,  Angus  made  up 
his  mind  to  settle  the  score  with  them  if  he  ever  found 
out  their  identity.  Never  again  would  he  lay  a  hand 
on  Turkey.  As  for  Braden — his  mouth  twisted  scorn- 
fully at  the  thought  of  the  latter's  fat  body  in  his  grip. 

But  Turkey's  visit  to  Mr.  Braden's  office  was  with 
quite  a  different  object  than  Angus'  interpretation  of  it. 
Between  Turkey  and  Mr.  Braden  there  was  little  more 
cordiality  than  on  the  day  when  the  latter  had  patted  the 
boy  on  the  head.  When  he  had  left  the  ranch  Mr. 
Braden  had  extended  sympathy,  condemned  Angus  for 
harshness;  but  Turkey  had  been  unresponsive.  He 
looked  on  family  quarrels  as  the  exclusive  property  of 
the  family. 

Turkey  knew  of  the  mortgage  which  Mr.  Braden  held 
but  nothing  of  its  condition.  The  burden  of  financing 
the  ranch  had  been  upon  Angus,  and  he  had  not  shared 
it.  Nor  did  Turkey  know  anything  of  the  further  sum 
Angus  had  borrowed.  And  so  Turkey,  if  he  thought 
of  the  mortgage  at  all,  assumed  that  it  was  all  right. 
It  was  Angus'  business. 

He  heard  of  the  action  which  Mr.  Braden  was  taking 
quite  by  accident.  On  the  occasion  when  Angus  had 


CONSPIRACY  249 

seen  him  entering  the  office  he  had  gone  there  merely 
with  reference  to  a  transaction  in  cattle  in  which  Gar- 
land was  interested.  But  on  hearing  that  Braden  had 
launched  a  mortgage  action,  he  went  there  to  get  first- 
hand information. 

"Do  you  mean,"  he  queried  with  a  scowl  when  Mr. 
Braden  had  stated  the  case  succinctly,  "that  the  ranch 
will  be  sold?" 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  nothing  else  for  it,"  Mr.  Braden 
replied  in  regretful  tones.  "I  offered  to  buy  it  at  a 
fair  price,  but  your  brother  wouldn't  sell." 

"He  wouldn't,  hey!" 

Mr.  Braden  shook  his  head  sadly.  "I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  the  present  condition  of  affairs  is  due  to  his 
recklessness  and  mismanagement" 

"Huh!"  said  Turkey. 

"It  would  have  been  much  better,"  said  Mr.  Braden, 
"if  I  had  insisted  upon  my  original  view  after  your 
father  cash — er — was  called  hence.  I  felt  that  your 
brother  was  incompetent,  and  results  have  proved  it. 
I  was  weak;  yes,  I  admit  that  I  was  weak." 

"Then  the  size  of  it  is,  that  we  lose  the  ranch?" 

"If  my  claim  is  satisfied  otherwise  I  shall  be  very 
glad.  But  of  course  I  have  to  protect  myself." 

"Who  gets  it?     You?" 

"It  will  be  sold  publicly  to  the  highest  bidder." 

"Is  that  you?" 

"I  may  have  to  bid  it  in  to  protect  myself,"  Mr. 
Braden  explained.  "It  is  forced  on  me,  and  I  fear 
others  —  you  and  your  sister  —  must  suffer  for  your 
brother's  incompetence." 

Turkey,  scouling  said  nothing  for  a  moment. 

"I  remember  the  day  you  came  to  the  ranch  after 
father  died,"  he  said  at  last  irrelevantly. 


250         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

uUm,"  Mr.  Braden  returned.  "I  felt  very  deeply  for 
you  in  your  bereavement.  You  were  quite  a  small  boy 
then.  I — er — patted  you  on  the  head." 

"I  didn't  know  you  then,"  said  Turkey,  "but  do 
you  know  what  I  thought?" 

"No,"  smiled  Mr.  Braden.  "I  suppose  you  stood 
somewhat  in  awe  of  me,  my  boy." 

"I  thought  you  were  a  fat,  old  crook,"  Turkey  an- 
nounced. 

"Hey!"  Mr.  Braden  ejaculated. 

"Of  course,  I  know  you  better  now,"  Turkey  added. 

"Yes,  yes,  just  so,"  said  Mr.  Braden'  with  compre- 
hension. "Childish  impressions.  Most  amusing.  Ha- 
ha!  Huh!" 

Turkey  looked  him  in  the  eye. 

"And  now  you're  fatter  and  older,"  he  said  deliber- 
ately, "and  I  believe  you're  a  damned  sight  crookeder 
than  I  thought  you  were  then.  You  pork-faced  old 
mortgage  shark,  I'll  like  to  burn  your  ears  off  with 
a  gun!" 

Mr.  Braden  gasped.  Turkey's  voice  was  as  venom- 
ous as  his  words.  His  hard,  young  mouth  twisted  bit- 
terly as  he  spoke.  "You're  damned  anxious  to  sell  the 
ranch,  aren't  you?"  he  went  on.  "Angus  had  the 
right  steer  about  you.  He  thought  you  were  trying  to 
put  something  over.  I  was  a  kid,  and  he  wasn't  much 
more,  but  we  both  had  you  sized  for  a  crook.  Well, 
we're  not  kids  now.  Since  I  left  the  ranch  I've  been 
hearing  about  you.  I'll  tell  you  what  I've  heard. 

Mr.  Braden  expressed  no  undue  anxiety  to  hear.  "I 
don't  know  what  you  have  heard  and  I  don't  care.  If 
you  can't  talk  decently,  get  out  of  here." 

"In  a  minute,"  said  Turkey,  "when  I've  told  you 
what  I  think  of  you." 


CONSPIRACY  251 

His  spoken  opinion  caused  Mr.  Braden  to  change 
color  from  time  to  time,  but  the  prevailing  hue  was  red. 

"Get  out  of  my  office!"  he  roared,  rearing  his  im- 
pressive bulk  against  Turkey's  slimness.  "Get  out  or 
I'll  throw  you  outl" 

"Shucks!"  said  Turkey  with  contempt,  and  dug  a 
hard,  young  thumb  into  Mr.  Braden's  forward  over- 
hang. "That's  the  only  thing  you  can  throw  out,  you 
old  tub  of  lard.  You'll  drop  dead  some  day  with  a 
rotten  heart.  And  now  I'm  telling  you  something:  I 
guess  I  can't  stop  you  from  selling  the  ranch,  but  if  you 
do,  I'll  get  you  somehow,  if  you  live  long  enough." 

Turkey,  as  he  went  down  the  street  from  this  inter- 
view, was  in  a  poisonous  temper.  His  was  the  impotent 
rage  of  youth,  which  failing  expression  in  physical 
violence,  finds  itself  at  a  complete  loss.  Though  he 
had  said  a  number  of  highly  insulting  things,  he  was 
not  satisfied.  He  told  himself  that  he  did  not  care  a 
hoot  about  Angus,  nor  about  his  own  prospective  share 
in  the  ranch,  which  would  be  wiped  out  by  a  forced 
sale.  But  he  thought  it  hard  luck  for  Jean.  In  spite 
of  their  quarrel,  he  recognized  that  his  brother  had  done 
most  of  the  work  for  years.  The  thought  that  a  pork- 
faced  old  mortgage  shark  should  get  the  ranch  that 
had  been  his  father's  was  bitter. 

However,  he  did  not  know  what  could  be  done  about 
it.  No  doubt  Angus  had  consulted  old  Riley.  The  law 
was  against  him.  The  darn  law,  Turkey  reflected,  was 
always  against  the  ordinary  man,  which  was  not  to  be 
wondered  at  since  it  was  made  by  darn  crooks.  Coming 
such,  Turkey  unconsciously  sighed  for  the  good,  old 
of  stock  which  had  no  special  respect  for  the  law,  as 
days  when  dispossession  was  attended  by  difficulties 
other  than  legal. 


252        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Under  the  circumstances,  it  seemed  to  Turkey  that 
he  should  have  a  drink.  To  get  it  he  went  around  the 
block  to  a  hostelry  immediately  behind  Mr.  Braden's 
office.  There  he  had  a  drink  with  the  proprietor,  one 
Tom  Hall.  Then  Tom  had  one  with  him.  Five  min- 
utes later  both  had  two  more  with  two  strangers.  Hall 
took  his  drinks  from  a  private  bottle  which  contained 
cold  tea.  But  four  drinks  of  the  kind  he  dispensed 
to  customers  furnished  a  very  fair  foundation.  Turkey 
had  nothing  particular  to  do.  Thus  the  end  of  a 
decidedly  imperfect  day  found  him  gently  slumbering  in 
an  upstairs  room  of  Tom's  place. 

When  he  awoke  it  was  dark.  He  did  not  know  where 
he  was,  and  did  not  care.  Being  young  and  in  perfect 
health  he  had  not  the  traditional  "splitting  head."  He 
was  very  dry,  but  that  was  all.  He  lay  still,  and 
remembered  that  Tom  had  helped  him  to  that  room, 
taken  off  his  boots  and  told  him  to  sleep  it  off.  Ap- 
parently he  had. 

The  window  was  open  and  the  night  air  blew  softly 
upon  his  face,  bringing  with  it  the  sound  of  voices  from 
the  next  room.  He  heard  the  scraping  of  chairs,  the 
pop  of  a  safety  match,  the  clink  of  glass.  Then  the 
voices  became  more  audible,  as  if  the  occupants  of  the 
room  had  drawn  closer  to  the  window.  Listening  idly, 
Turkey  caught  his  own  surname.  In  a  moment  it  was 
repeated. 

In  spite  of  the  adage  concerning  what  listeners  are 
apt  to  hear  of  themselves,  and  all  honorable  theories 
against  eavesdropping,  the  average  person  hearing  his 
own  name  will  prick  up  his  ears.  Turkey  rolled  softly 
out  of  the  bed,  and  in  his  stockinged  feet  went  to  the 
window. 

It  was  a  rear  window,  looking  out  upon  the  roofs  of 


CONSPIRACY  253 

sheds  and  the  backs  of  other  buildings.  The  night  was 
dark  and,  save  for  a  soft  breeze,  quiet.  The  first  words 
Turkey  heard  were  calculated  to  destroy  any  scruples. 

"I  thought  the  boys  were  going  to  beat  Mackay  up," 
said  a  voice  which  at  first  he  could  not  identify.  Another 
voice  which  he  knew  for  Garland's  replied : 

"They  will,  later.  Blake  has  it  in  for  him  good  and 
plenty." 

"Over  that  girl  on  the  dry  ranch,  I  s'pose,"  the  other 
speculated. 

"There's  a  lot  of  things." 

"Blake's  a  darn  fool,"  said  the  other,  and  now  Tur- 
key knew  the  voice.  It  was  Poole's.  "He's  too  fond 
of  women  and  booze.  He's  in  a  mess  right  now.  That 
klootch  wants  him  to  marry  her." 

"She's  got  another  guess  coming." 

"Well,"  said  Poole  judicially,  "if  he  ain't  going  to 
marry  her,  if  I  was  him  I'd  pull  out  for  a  while.  Some 
of  her  folks  might  lay  for  him." 

"She  hasn't  got  any  folks  but  her  grandfather." 

"At  that,  some  of  these  old  bucks  is  bad  medicine. 
Well,  it's  none  of  our  funeral.  When  will  the  Mackay 
ranch  be  sold?" 

"Soon  as  the  old  man  can  work  it.  I  wish  we  could 
touch  him  up  for  some  coin.  I'm  broke." 

"Me,  too,"  said  Poole.  "Trouble  is  we  ain't  got 
nothing  on  him.  We  couldn't  give  him  away  without 
giving  ourselves  away,  and  he  knows  it.  We  couldn't 
prove  a  darn  thing,  anyway.  He  didn't  rustle  them 
cattle  either  time,  nor  he  didn't  blow  out  Mackay's 
ditch  in  the  dry  spell.  We  couldn't  prove  that  he  even 
knew  of  them  things,  let  alone  framed  'em  up  and  paid 
for  'em.  He'd  give  us  the  laugh  if  we  tried  to  hold 
him  up." 


254        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Turkey,  leaning  out  into  the  night,  listened  in  amaze- 
ment So  the  stock  had  been  rustled.  Th~  speaker 
could  not  refer  to  anything  else.  But  what  was  this 
about  the  ditch?  Turkey  made  a  swift  deduction  which 
was  fairly  accurate.  That  was  what  Angus  meant  when 
he  had  demanded  the  names  of  men  responsible  for 
something  unknown  to  Turkey.  Somehow,  Angus  had 
connected  him  with  it.  It  must  have  been  through  his 
knife.  That  must  have  been  found  on  the  ground,  and 
Angus  had  naturally  assumed  that  he  had  been  there. 
At  this  point  obstinacy  had  prevented  an  understanding, 
set  him  and  Angus  at  cross-purposes,  and  led  to  a  fresh 
quarrel. 

Turkey  ground  his  teeth  softly  and  cursed  beneath 
his  breath.  So  that  was  the  stuff  that  was  being  put 
over  on  Angus.  The  "old  man"  must  be  Braden.  For 
the  first  time,  Turkey  began  to  see  clearly  through  the 
mists  of  hurt,  boyish  pride,  to  perceive  realities  undis- 
torted  by  youthful  grievances.  Angus  might  not  have 
been  tactful — but  he  had  been  right.  And  he,  Turkey, 
instead  of  helping  his  own  had  deserted  them. 

In  Turkey's  inner  being  sounded  the  rallying  call  of 
the  blood.  It  was  no  time  for  family  feuds.  If  he  had 
been  a  young  fool,  he  would  make  up  for  it.  He  would 
play  a  lone  hand,  taking  his  time,  and  he  would  play 
more  than  even.  But  now  he  must  not  lose  a  vvord. 

"The  old  man's  pretty  darn  smooth,"  Poole  went  on. 
"Take  that  time  he  lent  Mackay  money  to  make  good 
them  bets  he  was  holdin'.  That  put  Mackay  further  in 
the  hole  to  him.  It's  lucky  Mackay  don't  know  who 
rapped  him  on  the  head  and  rolled  him  that  night.  You 
get  a  feller  like  him  on  the  prod,  and  I'd  rather  take 
chances  on  a  mad  grizzly.  You  take  that  kid  brother  of 
his,  too.  There's  a  bad  actor.  You  can  see  it  in  his  eye.'* 


CONSPIRACY  255 

"He's  just  a  young  fool,"  Garland  said  contemptu- 
ously. "He  hates  his  brother  like  poison.  I  wish  he'd 
blown  his  head  off.  There  was  some  sort  of  a  gun  play, 
I  know." 

"And  that's  what  I'm  tellin'  you.  The  big  man  would 
kill  a  man  with  his  hands,  but  the  kid  would  go  for  a 
gun  fast  and  quiet.  If  he  knew  he'd  been  trailed  home 
that  night  he  was  full  and  the  stack  fired,  there'd  be 
trouble." 

"If  the  stable  had  gone  with  the  hay  it  would  have 
thrown  a  crimp  into  Maokay.  I  don't  savvy  why  it 
didn't  go.  The  wind  was  right." 

Suddenly  the  blackness  of  the  back  wall  of  the  build- 
ing opposite  was  split  by  a  slot  of  light,  revealing  a 
railed  landing  on  a  level  with  the  second  story.  A 
bulky  figure  stepped  out  and  the  light  disappeared. 
Came  the  creak  of  wooden  steps  beneath  a  heavy  body. 
Garland  swore  softly. 

"There  he  is  now  !" 

"The  old  man?" 

"Sure.  There's  an  outside  flight  of  steps  from  the 
back  up  to  his  room.  I  wonder  what  he's  up  to.  Douse 
our  light  for  a  minute." 

The  light  in  the  next  room  went  out  and  Turkey  drew 
back.  His  neighbors  evidently  occupied  the  window. 
From  the  darkness  beneath  came  the  sound  of  a  badly- 
hung  door  rasping  on  its  hinges. 

"There's  a  shed  down  there  he  keeps  a  lot  of  old 
plunder  in,"  Garland  observed. 

A  silence  of  minutes  and  the  door  rasped  again.  Fol- 
lowing that  came  a  series  of  metallic  sounds  and  once 
more  the  creak  of  steps.  The  slot  of  light  of  an  open 
doorway  appeared  again.  The  bulky  figure  showed  in  it, 
carrying  some  heavy  object  hung  in  its  right  hand.  Then 


256        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

the  door  closed,  all  but  a  crack  through  which  a  light 
filtered. 

"He  was  carrying  something,"  said  Garland.  "Could 
you  see  what  it  was?" 

"No.     Sounded  like  a  milk  can  or  a  tin  trunk." 

The  light  went  on  again  in  the  next  room,  but  the 
men  moved  away  from  the  window,  and  Turkey  heard 
no  more  than  odd  snatches  of  conversation  which  were 
not  relevant  to  his  affairs.  Listening  proving  unprofit- 
able, Turkey  softly  opened  his  door  and  carrying  his 
boots  went  downstairs.  Nobody  seemed  to  be  about.  He 
went  down  a  hall  to  a  rear  door  and  slid  out  into  the 
night.  Thence  he  picked  his  way  thrugh  the  litter  of 
a  back  yard  to  the  foot  of  the  flight  of  steps  which  led 
to  Mr.  Braden's  apartments,  and  leaving  his  boots  at  the 
bottom  ascended  with  great  care. 

Turkey  had  identified  the  object  which  Mr.  Braden 
had  brought  back  with  him  as  a  typewriter  in  its  carry- 
ing case.  To  Turkey  it  seemed  mysterious.  Why  should 
Braden  who  had  two  perfectly  good  machines  in  his 
office  below,  go  out  the  back  way  and  bring  in  a  machine 
from  an  old  shed?  It  was  funny.  But  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  to  find  out  all  he  could  about  Braden  and 
his  doings,  and  to  start  at  once.  Braden  had  been  play- 
ing a  crooked  game  right  along.  If  Turkey  could  catch 
him  in  anything — get  something  on  him — it  might  help 
to  save  the  ranch.  If  not  that,  it  would  help  him  to 
play  even.  He  put  his  eye  to  the  crack  of  the  door. 

He  saw  Braden  and  Godfrey  French.  They  were  at 
a  table  on  which  stood  a  typewriter,  and  Braden  ap- 
peared to  be  signing  some  legal  documents.  They  were 
talking,  but  Turkey  could  not  distinguish  words.  Pres- 
ently French  rose,  folded  up  some  papers  and  put  them 
in  an  inner  pocket.  Braden  went  with  him  to  the  door 


CONSPIRACY  257 

which  was  the  ordinary  entrance  to  the  apartment,  and 
gave  upon  a  hall  and  flight  of  stairs  leading  down  to  the 
office. 

Turkey  went  down  the  outside  stairs  and  put  on  his 
boots.  He  was  disappointed  in  not  being  able  to  over- 
hear their  conversation,  but  he  had  heard  a  good  deal 
that  night. 

What  would  he  do  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WHILE  SHELLING  PEAS 

MISS  JEAN,  spick  and  span  in  a  cool  dress  of  wash 
fabric,  took  a  critical  survey  of  herself  in  the 
mirror,  and  adjusted  a  wide  shade  hat  at  exactly 
the  right  angle.     Then,   taking  a  bright  tin  pan  she 
sallied  forth  into  the  afternoon  sun.     Her  course  led 
her  back  of  the  house,  through  the  orchard,  and  finally 
to  a  garden  patch  a  couple  of  acres  in  extent.     There, 
by  a  strange  coincidence,  Chetwood  was  working  among 
the  plants.    At  sight  of  her  he  paused,  straightened  his 
back  and  leaned  upon  his  hoe. 

"Oh,  are  you  here?"  said  Miss  Jean  in  tones  of 
extreme  surprise.  Chetwood  looked  down  at  his  feet, 
tapped  his  head  and  finally  pinched  himself. 

"Rather,"  he  announced  gravely.  "At  least  my  mor- 
tal body  seems  to  be." 

"Don't  let  me  interrupt  you,"  said  Miss  Jean.  "I 
came  to  pick  peas." 

"I'll  help  you." 

"I  don't  require  help,  thanks." 

"You  might  get  thorns  in  your  fingers." 

"Peas  haven't  thorns  I"  said  Miss  Jean  scathingly. 
"You  ought  to  know  that  by  this  time." 

"Observation  has  taught  me  that  in  this  world  one 
finds  thorns  in  the  most  unexpected  places.  Even 
roses — fragrant,  blushing  roses — " 

"Don't  be  absurd!" 

"Then  let  me  help  you  pick  peas." 

258 


WHILE  SHELLING  PEAS  259 

"But  the  garden  needs  hoeing." 

"The  bally  thing  always  needs  hoeing,"  Chetwood 
commented  with  deep  resentment.  "It  has  an  insatiable 
desire  to  be  tickled  with  a  hoe.  What  a  world  it  would 
be  if  weeds  would  die  as  easily  as  plants,  and  plants 
thrive  as  carelessly  as  weeds.  Bright  thought,  what?" 

"Nonsense!"  said  Miss  Jean. 

"Oh,  I  say!     It's  really  profound." 

"It's  profoundly  silly.  You  had  better  stick  to  the 
hoe." 

"My  back  is  broken." 

"Well,"  Miss  Jean  relented,  "you  may  help  me  if 
you  like." 

On  either  side  of  tall  vines  trained  on  brush  they 
began  to  pick  the  big,  fat  Telephones.  Now  and  then, 
in  the  tangle  of  the  vines,  their  fingers  touched,  as  both 
Reached  for  the  same  pod. 

"This  beats  hoeing,"  Chetwood  announced. 

"I'm  afraid  you're  lazy." 

"I  am.  I  always  was.  But  to  help  a  girl,  especially 
a  pret — " 

"If  you  are  going  to  be  silly  I  shall  go  to  the  other 
end  of  the  row." 

"  'O  stay,'  the  young  man  said,  'and  rest  thy  weary 
head  up—'  " 

Miss  Jean  promptly  picked  up  the  pan  and  marched 
to  the  other  end  of  the  row.  Chetwood  followed  her. 

"They  are  better  here,"  he  said.  "It's  a  genuine 
pleasure  to  pick  such  peas  together."  Miss  Jean  did 
not  reply.  "Don't  you  like  to  pick  peas  with  me?" 

"When  you  talk  sensibly  I  don't  object.  There,  the 
pan's  full.  Thanks  very  much." 

"And  now  we'll  shell  them." 

"I'll  take  them  to  the  house  to  shell." 


26o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Please  don't.  Here  is  shade,  running  water,  the 
company  of  an  industrious  young  man.  "You  can't 
overlook  a  combination  like  that — if  you  have  a  heart." 

"It  is  nice  shade,"  Miss  Jean  admitted. 

They  sat  in  it,  the  pan  piled  with  peas  between  them, 
and  began  to  shell.  Miss  Jean's  hand  diving  for  a  pea, 
encountered  Chetwood's  and  was  held  fast. 

"Mr.  Chetwood!" 

Without  relinquishing  his  prize  that  gentleman  set 
the  pan  aside  and  with  considerable  agility  seated  him- 
self beside  Miss  Jean. 

"My  full  name  is  Eustace  William  Fitzroy  Chetwood. 
I  prefer  the  second.  William  is  a  respectable  name. 
Do  you  know  what  it  means?" 

"I  didn't  know  it  meant  anything." 

"Oh,  yes;  it  means  'Bill.'  I  answer  beautifully  to 
'Bill.'"  ' 

"Will—" 

"'Bill'!" 

"Will  you  please  let  go  my  hand?" 

"  'What  we  have  we  hold'  is  a  good  motto.  It  seems 
a  sound  system  to  hold  what  I  have." 

Miss  Jean  sighed.  "Then  of  course  I  can't  shell 
peas,  and  you  won't  have  any  for  supper." 

"Hang  supper!  Jean,  darling,  how  long  are  you 
going  to  keep  me  in  suspense?" 

"I'm  not  keeping  you  at  all;  and  you  mustn't  call  me 
'darling.'  " 

"Are  you  going  to  keep  me  waiting  seven  years,  as 
Rebecca  kept  Joseph?" 

"It  wasn't  Rebecca  or  Joseph." 

"Well,  it  doesn't  matter;  I  had  the  waiting  part  of  it 
right.  I  can  feel  the  strain  telling  on  me,  and  when  I 
look  into  your  eyes — like  this — " 


WHILE  SHELLING  PEAS  261 

Here  Miss  Jean  shut  her  eyes.  Chetwood  being 
human  did  the  natural  thing.  Miss  Jean  wrenched  her 
hand  away  and  rubbed  her  cheek. 

"How  dare  you!"  she  demanded  with  really  first- 
class  indignation. 

"I  don't  know;  but  like  Warren  Hastings,  I  am 
astonished  at  my  own  moderation.  I  should  have  kissed 
you  before.  And  I  am  going  to  kiss  you  again." 

Though  the  prospect  did  not  seem  to  dismay  Miss 
Jean,  she  removed  herself  swiftly  to  a  distance  of 
several  feet,  and  further  consolidated  her  position  by 
placing  the  pan  of  peas  between  them. 

"Shell  peas — Eustace!"  she  said.  Chetwood  ground 
a  set  of  perfect  teeth. 

"You  want  to  drive  me  crazy,  I  see  that,"  he  said. 
"You're  too  dangerous  to  be  running  around  loose. 
You  need  a  firm  hand — like  mine.  Now — " 

What  followed  was  very  bad  for  the  peas.  Some 
minutes  later  Miss  Jean,  raising  hands  to  a  flushed  face 
and  sadly  tilted  hat,  regarded  them  in  dismay. 

"Now  see  what  you've  done !" 

Chetwood  grinned.  "Will  you  carry  sweet  peas?" 
he  asked.  "If  we  are  married  early  in  September — " 

"September!"  Miss  Jean  gasped.  "I  couldn't  think 
of  such  a  thing,  Bil — ly!" 

"You  can  when  you  get  used  to  it,"  Chetwood  assured 
hen  "Like  getting  into  hot  water,  you  know." 

"It  may  be  a  good  deal  like  it,"  Miss  Jean  observed 
reflectively. 

"Eh!    Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that." 

"I  know  you  didn't,  but  it  might  be  true,  all  the  same. 
We  can't  be  married  for  a  long  time." 

"Why  can't  we?"  the  lover  demanded. 

"For   a   number   of  perfectly  good   reasons,"   Jean 


262        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

replied,  a  grave  little  pucker  coming  upon  her  forehead. 

"Wrinkles!"  cried  Chetwood.  "But  I'll  love  you 
just  as  much  when — " 

"Well,  goodness  knows,  I've  enough  worries  without 
getting  married." 

"Cynic!" 

"Maybe,  but  I  hope  I  have  some  horse  sense.  Now 
to  start  with,  Billy — and  please  don't  be  offended — I'd 
like  you  to  make  good,  more  or  less,  before  I  marry 
you." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  I'd  like  you  to  have  a  ranch  of  your  own." 

"Any  special  one?" 

"Don't  joke  about  it,"  Jean  reproved  him.  "You'll 
find  it  serious  enough.  As  you  haven't  any  money  now 
you  can't  buy  a  ranch.  And  so  you'll  have  to  home- 
stead." 

Chetwood  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  and  gulped. 
"I  keep  forgetting  I'm  a  hired  man.  Go  on." 

"It's  doing  you  good.  You're  getting  a  knowledge 
of  ranching.  I  think  you  know  almost  enough  now  to 
take  up  a  homestead." 

"But,"  Chetwood  objected,  "I'd  have  to  live  on  the 
blinking  thing  in  a  beastly,  lonely  shack." 

"Plenty  of  good  men  have  lived  in  lonely  shacks." 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  I  meant  that  I  shouldn't  see 
you  more  than  perhaps  four  or  five  times  a  week. 
Now—" 

"You  may  not  see  me  at  all.  I'll  tell  you  why, 
presently.  Anyway,  I  wouldn't  let  you  waste  your  time. 
I'm  serious.  You  see,  Billy — "  here  Miss  Jean 
blushed — "you'd  be  working  on  your  homestead  for — 
for  us." 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  Chetwood.     "That  is— I  mean— 


WHILE  SHELLING  PEAS  263 

yes,  of  course.  Inspiring  thought  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  what?  But  how  much  nicer  it  would  be  if  I  were 
able  to  look  forward  to  seeing  you  in  our  humble  door 
as  I  came  home  weary  from  my  daily  toil,  with — er — 
roses  and  honeysuckle  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  clam- 
bering about  don't  you  know,  and  the  sweet  odor  of — 
of—" 

"Of  what,  Billy?"  Miss  Jean  prompted  softly,  in  her 
eyes  the  expression  of  one  who  gazes  upon  a  fair  mental 
picture.  "Of  what,  Billy?" 

"Of  pies,"  Chetwood  replied  raptly.    "Ah !  Urn !" 

"Of  wha — a — t!"  Miss  Jean  cried,  coming  out  of 
her  reverie  with  a  start. 

"Of  pies  cooking,"  Chetwood  repeated.  "Nice,  juicy 
pies." 

"Pies — bah!"  Miss  Jean  ejaculated. 

"Say  not  so,"  Chetwood  responded.  "I  admire  pie. 
The  land  of  my  birth,  I  sadly  admit,  is  deficient  in  pie. 
But  here  I  adopt  the  customs  of  the  country.  I  am  what 
might  be  called  a  pie — oneer — " 

"Ugh!    Awful!"  Miss  Jean  shuddered. 

"Now  I  thought  that  quite  bright." 

"That's  the  saddest  part  of  it." 

"My  word,  what  a — er — slam!  Strange  that  you 
should  feel  such  a  sincere  affection  for — " 

"I  don't  know  whether  I  do  or  not !" 

"Then,  Miss  Mackay,"  Chetwood  demanded,  "what 
is  the  meaning  of  your  conduct?" 

Miss  Jean  bit  her  lip,  blushed,  and  finally  decided  to 
laugh.  "I  was  getting  sentimental  for  a  moment,"  she 
confessed.  "Your  little  word  picture  had  me  going. 
And  all  the  time  you  were  fooling.  That's  dangerous, 
young  man." 

"No,  on  my  word  I  wasn't,"  Chetwood  protested. 


264        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"I  meant  it.  Only  I  got  stuck  for  a  word,  and  I  just 
happened  to  think  of — pie." 

"I'm  glad  you  did,"  Jean  admitted.  "What  I  like 
about  you  is  that  you're  cheerful  all  the  time.  Angus 
sulks  like  a — a  mule.  So  does  Turkey.  Oh,  I  do,  too. 
We  all  do.  But  you  always  have  a  smile  and  a  joke, 
though  sometimes  they're  awful." 

"Both  of  'em?" 

"The  smiles  are  all  right,"  Jean  admitted.  "But  do 
you  know,  I've  never  seen  you  serious  about  anything. 
And  it  seems  to  me  that  a  man  who  has  a — well,  a  real 
purpose  in  life  should  be — now  and  then." 

"Perhaps  I  never  had  one." 

"Well,  now  you've  got  me." 

"Eh!  By  Jove,  so  I  have.  I'll  live  in  a  shack  if  you 
say  so,  but  I'd  rather  stay  on  here  a  bit.  I'm  learning 
all  the  time." 

"That  brings  me  to  another  reason.  There  may  be 
no  'here'  to  stay  on  at — so  far  as  we  are  concerned." 

She  told  him  the  situation  briefly.  "And  so,  you  see, 
we  may  not  have  a  ranch  at  all.  Then  Angus  would  go 
away  and  take  up  land,  and  I  might  go  with  him." 

"So  would  I  if  he'd  have  me.  It  would  be  rather 
jolly." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Jean.  "Making  a  new  ranch  isn't 
fun;  it's  hard  work.  And  then,  on  top  of  it  all,  what  do 
you  think  Angus  is  going  to  do?" 

"Wring  old  Braden's  neck,  I  hope." 

"He's  going  to  get  married!" 

"Hooray!"  cried  Chetwood.  "Nail  the  flag  to  the 
mast !  Derry  walls  and  no  surrender !  Give  hostages — 
er — I  mean  that's  the  spirit.  Also  an  example.  Let's 
follow  it.  What's  sauce  for  the  Mackay  gander  ought 
to  be  sauce  for — er — " 


WHILE  SHELLING  PEAS  265 

"I'm  not  a  goose,"  she  pouted  prettily. 

"Duck  I"  Chetwood  suggested. 

"Don't  be  silly.   It's  a  different  proposition  entirely." 

"Why?"  Jean  did  not  reply.    "Why,  Jean?" 

"Because  Angus  can  look  after  himself — and  a  wife." 

Chetwood's  perennially  cheerful  expression  sobered. 
"That's  rather  a  hard  one.  I'm  not  quite  helpless, 
really." 

"I'm  sorry,"  Jean  said  simply.  "But  I  meant  just 
what  I  said.  The  country  is  new  to  you  and  you're  new 
to  the  country,  and  we  can't  be  married  till  you  find 
yourself.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  either  of  us.  I'm 
putting  it  up  to  you  to  make  good,  Billy." 

Chetwood  nodded  soberly,  but  his  eyes  smiled. 

"I'll  make  good,"  he  said.  "I'll  go  and  see  this 
Judge  Riley — about  a  homestead.  And  now,  Jean 
darling,  will  you  oblige  me  by  the  size  of  that  pretty 
little  third  finger." 

"You  are  not  to  spend  any  money  on  rings.  Keep  it 
for  the  homestead." 

"Oh  da — er — I  mean  high  heaven  hates  a  piker. 
Can't  allow  you  to  go  ringless.  It's  not  done,  really. 
I'm  going  to  have  my  own  way.  Nothing  elaborate. 
Just  a  simple,  little  ring,  costing,  say,  fifty  pounds — >: 

"Fifty  pounds!"  Jean  gasped.  "Two  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars!  Why,  I  couldn't—" 

"Does  sound  more  in  dollars.  Tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I  have  a  ring  at  home.  It  belonged  to  my  mother.  I'll 
send  for  it  if  you  don't  mind." 

"I  should  be  proud  of  your  mother's  ring,"  said  Jean. 

"I  think,"  said  Chetwood,  "that  she  would  be  proud 
to  have  you  wear  it." 

"Billy,"  said  Jean,  "that's  just  the  nicest  thing  you 
ever  said — or  ever  will  say." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE 

FAITH  and  Angus  were  to  be  married  at  Faith's 
ranch.  There  was  small  preparation,  to  the 
scandal  of  Mrs.  Foley. 

"Sure  I  niver  thought  to  see  ye  go  off  this  way,  wid  no 
style  about  ye!"  she  mourned.  "Foour  min  have  I  tuk, 
hopin'  th'  bether  an'  gettin'  th'  worse,  but  annyways 
ivery  time  they  was  lashin's  to  ate  an'  dhrink,  an'  all 
the  folks  there  we  knowed  an'  plenty  we  didn't.  But 
here  ye're  fixin'  for  nobody  at  all." 

"Well,  there  won't  be  anybody,"  Faith  replied.  "It's 
to  be  a  very  quiet  wedding." 

"Ye  may  say  that,"  Mrs.  Foley  agreed.  "All  th' 
differ'  bechune  it  an'  a  death-bed  will  be  a  docther 
an'  a  nurse." 

"Oh  it's  not  as  bad  as  that,  Mary,"  Faith  laughed. 
"I  really  prefer  it  that  way." 

"Bein'  a  woman  mesilf,  I  know  ye're  lyin',"  Mrs. 
Foley  returned  uncompromisingly.  "  'Tis  not  the 
nacher  iv  us  to  dispinse  wid  frills  in  annything." 

Faith  laughed,  stifling  a  sigh.  She  had  had  her 
dreams.  But  she  was  quite  content.  Mrs.  Foley  ran  on : 

"Sure,  thin,  iver  since  ye  was  a  little  tot  I've  been 
thinkin'  that  some  day  I'd  see  ye  comin'  up  th'  aisle  in  a 
big  church  on  yer  blessed  father's  arrum,  all  in  white 
wid  a  big  bookay  an'  veil  an'  orange  blossoms  an'  all; 
an'  th'  organist  tearin'  th'  bowils  out  iv  th'  organ  whiles, 
Ian*  th'  choir  rippin'  loose;  an'  a  foine  fat  bishop  or 
th'  loikes,  wid  a  grand  voice  rowlin'  th'  solemn  words 

266 


MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE         267 

out  in  his  chist.  An'  aftherwards  atin'  an'  dhrinkin' 
an  speechifyin',  an'  showers  iv  rice  an'  shoes  an'  white 
ribbon  be  th'  yarrd.  Thim's  th'  things  I  t'ought  f'r  to 
see.  An'  instid  iv  that,  ye  will  stand  up  in  privut  in  a 
shack  in  a  neck  iv  woods,  an'  have  th'  words  said  over 
ye  by  a  dom',  wryneck,  Gospel  George  iv  a  heretic 
>pulpit-poundher,  that's  dhruv  out  in  a  buckboord 
dhrawed  be  a  foundhered  harrse,  to  do  th'  job  loike  a 
plumber  comes.  Well,  God's  will  be  done.  An'  mebbe 
yer  second  weddin'  will  be  diff'rent.  Though  they's 
never  th'  peachbloom  on  th'  second  they  is  on  th'  first, 
worse  luck." 

"Mary!  what  a  thing  to  say!"  Faith  cried.  "There 
will  never  be  a  second  wedding  for  me." 

"Ye  say  so — knowin'  nawthin',"  Mrs.  Foley 
responded.  "All  wimmin  say  so  before  they're  first 
married,  knowin'  nawthin'  iv  marriage ;  an'  half  iv  thim 
swear  it  to  thimselves  before  they've  been  married  a 
year,  knowin'  too  much.  But  sure  'tis  th'  nacher  iv  us 
to  take  chances,  or  we'd  niver  marry  at  all.  An'  f'r 
why  should  a  young  widdy  woman  like  yerself  go  lonely 
all  yer  days?" 

"Heavens,  Mary,  stop  it!"  Faith  shuddered. 
"Talking  like  that  before  I'm  married  at  all.  I'm  not 
a  widow;  I  won't  be  a  widow." 

"I'm  wan  foour  times,"  Mrs.  Foley  observed.  "An' 
I've  knowed  thim  that  wud  have  give  their  sowls  to  be 
wan  just  wanst.  Ye  niver  can  tell." 

"To  judge  by  Angus'  looks  I  won't  be  a  widow  for 
a  long  time,"  Faith  laughed. 

Mrs.  Foley  shook  her  head  sagely.  "Nor  ye  can't 
tell  about  that.  Sthrong  th'  lad  is,  but  he's  voylent,  an' 
voylent  min  come  to  quick  ends." 

"Violent?    Nonsense!     He  never  loses  his  temper." 


268         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"All  min  lose  their  timpers,"  Mrs.  Foley  asserted; 
"an'  th'  quoiter  th'  man  th'  bigger  divil  he  is  whin  he 
starts.  Thim  kind  is  th'  worst.  It's  not  f'r  nawthin' 
he  carries  that  harrd  face." 

"His  face  isn't  hard,"  Faith  contradicted  indignantly. 

Mrs.  Foley  waved  her  hand.  "I  was  speakin'  in 
parables,  loike.  I'm  not  meanin'  it's  bad-lookin'  he  is, 
but  he's  harrd.  He's  th'  kind  that  niver  forgives  wrong 
or  slight,  an'  it  wud  shtrain  him  awful  to  forgive  th' 
same.  They's  a  divil  lives  deep  down  in  him,  I'm  tellin' 
ye,  that's  best  left  asleep." 

"Bosh!"  said  Faith. 

"Ye  say  that,  bein'  ign'rant  iv  min,"  Mrs.  Foley  told 
her  gravely.  "I  believe  he  loves  ye  thrue,  an'  ut's  little 
th'  life  iv  a  man  wud  be  worth  who  should  speak  a  light 
word  iv  ye,  or  lay  a  hand  on  ye  in  other  than  respect, 
if  he  knew  it.  But  take  ye  heed,  my  gyurl,  niver  to  rouse 
that  sleepin'  divil  an'  have  him  peep  at  ye  through  the 
eyes  of  yer  man.  Niver,  as  ye  value  yer  station  as  a 
wife,  give  him  annything  to  forgive  in  ye  as  a  wife. 
Forgive  it  he  might,  but  forget  it  he  niver  would." 

Faith,  her  smooth  cheeks  aflame,  drew  herself  up 
haughtily.  "You  have  no  right  to  speak  to  me  like 
that." 

"I  am  takin'  th'  right,"  Mrs.  Foley  replied  steadily. 
"Do  I  not  know  ye  for  what  ye  are — a  little  lady  born 
an'  bred,  pure-minded  an'  high-minded?  Ye  blush  whin 
an  old  woman  that's  seen  th'  rough  iv  ut  calls  a  spade  a 
spade.  I  wud  tear  th'  eyes  out  iv  man  or  woman  that 
spoke  ill  of  ye.  But  ye  are  a  woman,  an'  women  will  be 
women,  and  min  min,  foriver  an'  a  day." 

"You  have  never  spoken  to  me  so  before.  Why 
do  you  do  it  now?" 

"Bekase  ye  are  about  to  take  a  man,"  Mrs.  Foley 


MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE         269 

replied.  "A  colleen  is  her  own  woman,  wid  none  but 
herself  to  gyard  an'  care  for;  but  a  wife  is  her  man's 
woman,  an'  besides  herself  she  must  gyard  an'  care 
for  her  man  an'  his  love  for  her.  The  wise  wife  will 
gyard  herself  closer  nor  whin  she  was  a  maid,  an'  she 
will  gyard  her  man  closer  nor  his  mother." 

"Angus  may  trust  me,"  Faith  said  proudly,  "as  I 
trust  him." 

"An'  well  f  r  both  iv  ye,"  said  Mrs.  Foley,  "if  as  ye 
say  now  in  yer  youth  ye  do  till  ye  have  grandchilder." 
She  wound  a  great  arm  around  Faith  and  drew  her  to 
her  ample  bosom.  "There,  there,  gyurl  iv  me  heart! 
Forgive  th'  rough  tongue  iv  an  owld  woman  wid  a  long, 
harrd  road  behind  her.  Th'  lad  is  a  rale  man,  if  iver 
I  saw  wan.  An'  as  f'r  th'  divil  in  him,  I  wouldn'  give 
a  snap  iv  me  thumb  for  a  man  widout  wan." 

Whereat  Faith,  being  motherless  and  in  spite  of  her 
independence  lonely  as  well,  cried  a  little  and  so  did 
Mrs.  Foley,  and  both  enjoyed  it  very  much. 

The  wedding  took  place  a  few  days  later.  Kathleen 
French  was  the  only  one  of  her  family  present.  Turkey 
would  not  come,  sending  Jean  an  excuse.  Faith  had 
never  even  seen  him. 

There  was  no  wedding  trip.  But  after  a  few  days  at 
the  Mackay  ranch  Angus  began  to  arrange  excursions. 
So  far  as  he  could  see,  it  was  now  merely  a  matter  of 
weeks  till  the  place  had  another  owner,  probably 
Braden.  He  had  done  his  best,  and  he  was  more  or  less 
resigned  to  the  inevitable.  With  the  resignation  a  load 
of  worry  dropped  from  his  shoulders.  Later  he  must 
make  a  fresh  start,  but  now  he  would  enjoy  the  present. 

With  Faith  he  took  long  rides  into  the  foothills,  along 
faint,  old  trails  first  beaten  by  the  feet  of  the  long- 
vanished  elk,  through  deep  timber  where  towering,  seal- 


27o        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

brown  trunks  shot  fifty  feet  in  the  air  without  a  limb 
and  met  in  dense,  needle-foliage  above,  and  the  horses' 
feet  fell  without  sound ;  beside  creeks  fed  by  the  hoary, 
old  glaciers  which  far  away  glinted  gray,  and  ridged, 
and  fissured,  relics  of  the  ancient  ice-cap  which  once 
overlay  and  over-rode  the  land.  To  Faith  these  trips 
were  a  novelty,  opening  a  fresh  world  new  and  wonder- 
ful. Incidentally  they  showed  her  husband  to  advan- 
tage, in  a  new  light  and  her  trust  in  him  strengthened. 

In  such  surroundings  Angus  was  at  home,  adequate, 
competent.  His  knowledge  of  them  amazed  Faith, 
though  there  was  nothing  at  all  wonderful  about  it, 
since  he  had  lived  in  the  open  all  his  life  and  consorted 
with  men  who  had  done  likewise.  His  camps  were 
always  comfortable  and  sheltered.  He  constructed  deep 
beds  in  which  one  sank  luxuriously.  Rain  or  shine  he 
was  a  wizard  with  a  fire  and  a  frying  pan,  building 
browned  and  feathery  bannocks  in  a  minimum  of  time, 
the  doughgods  he  mixed  were  marvels,  his  mulligan  a 
thing  to  dream  of.  All  was  accomplished  without  hurry 
and  without  fuss.  She  saw  the  results  without  quite 
appreciating  the  method. 

Another  thing  which  impressed  her  was  his  apparent 
ability  to  make  the  horses  comprehend  his  wishes. 
When  he  spoke  to  them  he  seldom  raised  his  voice. 
When  trouble  developed  he  was  infinitely  patient;  when 
punishment  was  necessary  he  inflicted  it  without  temper. 
Faith  saw  no  signs  of  the  "divil"  of  which  Mrs.  Foley 
had  spoken.  If  he  existed  at  all  he  dwelt  deep,  in  the 
dungeons  of  the  man's  being,  securely  chained. 

It  was  natural  that  she  should  take  pride  in  her 
husband's  physique.  His  body  was  hard,  lean,  in  the 
condition  of  an  athlete's  in  training.  Her  fingers  press- 
ing his  forearm  made  scarcely  an  impression.  Once,  as 


MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE          271 

he  bent  to  heave  out  of  the  way  fallen  timber  which 
blocked  the  trail,  she  placed  her  hands  upon  his  back. 
He  turned  his  head. 

"Lift!"  she  said,  and  beneath  her  hands  she  felt  the 
long,  pliant  muscles  spring  and  tauten  and  harden.  On 
another  occasion  a  bowlder  had  fallen  upon  the  trail, 
partially  embedding  itself.  It  was  possible  to  go  around, 
but  he  would  not.  Finally  he  worried  out  the  rock  and 
rolled  it  down  the  hillside. 

"Heavy?"  she  queried. 

"Pretty  heavy.  The  trouble  was  I  couldn't  get  hold 
of  it." 

"Do  you  know  how  strong  you  are?"  she  questioned. 

"Why,  no,"  he  admitted.  "That  is,  I  don't  know 
just  what  I  can  lift,  if  that  is  what  you  mean,  nor  what 
I  could  pack  for  say  a  mile  if  I  had  to.  There's  a  good 
deal  of  knack  in  that  sort  of  thing — balance  an-d  distribu- 
tion of  weight,  and  the  development  of  a  certain  set  of 
muscles  by  keeping  at  it.  There  are  men  who  can  pack 
five  hundred  on  a  short  portage.  I've  heard  of  eight 
hundred — but  I  don't  know." 

Faith  thought  she  had  known  Angus  before  marriage. 
But  in  the  companionship  of  the  trail  and  besid-e  the 
evening  fires  beneath  the  stars  she  learned  that  her 
knowledge  of  him  had  been  superficial.  She  found  that 
the  country  rock  of  his  reserve  hid  unsuspected  veins  of 
tenderness,  of  poesy  and  of  melancholy.  But  though  he 
possessed  these  softer  veins — and  she  reflected  that  it 
should  be  her  task  to  develop  them — the  man  himself 
was  essentially  hard  and  grim.  His  outlook,  when  she 
came  to  know  it,  proved  primitive,  the  code  which 
governed  him  simple  and  ancient — the  old,  old  code  of 
loyalty  to  friends,  and  in  the  matter  of  reprisals  eye  for 
eye  and  tooth  for  tooth. 


272        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"But  that  is  not  right,"  she  urged  when  he  had  set 
forth  this  latter  belief.  "We  are  told  to  return  good 
for  evil." 

Angus  smiled  grimly.  "We  may  be  told  to  do  so," 
he  said,  "and  we  are  told  to  turn  the  other  cheek  to  the 
smiter.  That  is  all  very  well  when  the  evil  or  the  blow 
is  unintentional,  sort  of  by  accident.  But  when  a  man 
does  you  harm  on  purpose,  out  of  meanness,  the  best 
way  to  show  him  he  has  made  a  mistake  is  to  get  back 
at  him  hard." 

"Which  makes  him  hate  you  all  the  more." 

"Maybe.  But  it  makes  him  mighty  careful  what  he 
does." 

"But  don't  you  see,"  she  argued,  "that  if  there  were 
no  such  thing  as  forgiveness — if  everybody  paid  back 
everybody  for  injuries  in  the  same  coin — the  whole 
world  would  be  at  feud  and  at  war.  We  should  go 
back  to  savagery." 

"And  don't  you  see,"  he  responded,  "that  if  men 
knew  they  could  get  away  with  anything  without  a  come- 
back the  world  wouldn't  be  much  better.  There  are 
men  and  nations  who  are  decent,  and  there  are  both  who 
are  not.  These  have  to  be  kept  down.  If  they  ruled, 
it  would  be  terrorism." 

"There  would  be  the  law;  there  must  be  the  law,  of 
course.  That  would  protect  people." 

"The  law  has  too  much  red  tape  about  it.  In  the  old 
days  things  were  better.  Then  a  man  packed  his  own 
law." 

"The  gun?    A  horrible  state  of  affairs !  Barbarism  1" 

"Well,  it  made  men  careful.  Now  you  take  Braden. 
With  the  help  of  the  law  he  is  going  to  get  our  ranch 
for  a  fraction  of  its  value.  I  am  not  kicking  about  that. 
But  he  blew  up  my  ditch.  I  don't  mean  he  did  it  him- 


MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE         273 

self,  but  he  framed  it,  though  I  can't  prove  it.  If  it 
wasn't  for  the  law  I  would  go  and  twist  the  truth  out  of 
him,  and  then  I  would  settle  with  the  men  who  did  it. 
And  then  there's  your  ranch.  I  know  it  must  be  Braden 
who  wants  to  buy  that.  I'd  find  out  about  that,  too. 
There's  something  wrong.  He's  trying  to  put  some- 
thing over."  His  fist  clenched  suddenly.  "The  rotten 
crooks!"  he  growled.  "They've  got  me.  But  let  them 
try  any  dirty  work  on  you!" 

Secretly,  Faith  worried  a  little  about  the  future,  the 
more  because  Angus  seemed  utterly  careless  of  it.  He 
had  utterly  refused  to  allow  her  to  sell  her  ranch  and 
apply  the  proceeds  to  satisfy  Braden's  claim.  If  he 
had  any  definite  plans  for  the  future  he  would  not  talk 
of  them.  With  what  money  he  would  have  from  the 
sale  of  stock  and  various  chattels  there  would  be  enough 
for  a  start  elsewhere.  But  when  and  where  and  how 
that  start  should  be  made  was  up  to  Angus. 


274        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Shouldn't  we  be  making  some  definite  plans?"  she 
asked. 

"I  suppose  we  should,"  he  admitted.  "But  I've 
always  planned  and  worried,  and  the  best  I've  made  out 
of  it  all  is  to  land  in  this  mess.  Now  and  then  I've 
asked  myself  what  was  the  use  of  it." 

"But  that's  no  state  of  mind  for  a  man,"  she  pro- 
tested. "That's  lie  down  and  quit.  You're  not  that 
sort,  surely?" 

"I  didn't  think  I  was,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  thought 
I  had  sand  and  staying  power.  But  I'm  tired.  Lord, 
you  don't  know  how  tired  I  am — and  sore!  Every 
thought  I've  had  for  years  has  been  for  the  old  place. 
And  now  to  lose  it !  It  sort  of  upsets  me — temporarily. 
I'm  deliberately  not  thinking,  nor  planning.  When  the 
place  is  sold  it  will  be  different.  Till  then  I'm  going 
to  loaf,  body  and  mind,  for  all  I'm  worth." 

Though  she  thoroughly  disapproved  of  this  state  of 
mind,  Faith  said  no  more.  Time  drew  on.  And  one 
night  Angus  announced  that  loafing  was  done. 

"Now  I'll  get  into  the  collar  for  another  stretch  of 
years,"  he  said.  "To-morrow  we'll  start  back.  I  want 
to  be  at  the  sale,  to  see  who  will  bid  the  place  in." 

"It  will  be  like  turning  the  knife,  won't  it?" 

"Yes,  but  I  can  take  my  medicine.  Then  I'll  sell  off 
the  stock,  turn  everything  I  can  into  cash,  fix  up  you  and 
Jean  somewhere  and  go  cruising." 

"Cruising?" 

"Prospecting  for  new  ground  somewhere.  The 
farther  away  the  better.  I  want  a  lot  of  land — cheap. 
I'm  out  to  make  a  stake — to  found  a  fortune  for  the 
Mackay  family." 

"You'll  take  me  with  you." 

"No." 


MRS.  FOLEY  ON  MARRIAGE          275 

"Please!" 

"Better  not,  old  girl.  I  may  have  to  cover  a  lot  of 
ground  before  I  find  what  I'm  looking  for,  and  the 
traveling  will  be  rough.  It's  better  for  me  to  go  alone." 

Faith  did  not  press.  She  recognized  the  truth  of  what 
he  said.  But  she  realized  as  they  rode  down  out  of  the 
hills  what  a  difference  already  his  absence  would  make 
in  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

SUDDEN  DEATH 

THOUGH  Godfrey  French's  habits  could  not  be 
called  studious  his  private  room  was  known  as  his 
"study,"  which  possibly  was  as  good  as  any  other 
name.     The  furnishings  of  the  room  were  of  comfort- 
able solidity.     Since  the  room  served  as  an  office  in 
which  he  transacted  such  business  as  he  had,  there  was 
a  desk  with  many  pigeon  holes,  and  backed  against  the 
wall  stood  a  small  safe. 

Outside  it  was  dark,  and  the  rising  wind  was  begin- 
ning to  sigh  with  a  promise  of  breeding  weather.  But 
in  the  study,  lit  by  a  shade  lamp,  its  owner  and  Mr. 
Braden  were  comfortably  seated.  Beside  them  stood 
a  small  table  bearing  a  decanter,  a  siphon  and  a  box  of 
cigars. 

Mr.  Braden  helped  himself  to  the  whiskey.  His 
drinking  was  strictly  private,  but  he  indulged  rather 
more  frequently  than  of  old,  and  in  larger  doses.  Some- 
how he  seemed  to  require  them.  As  for  Godfrey  French, 
he  took  his  Scotch  as  he  took  his  tea,  as  he  had  been 
taking  it  all  his  life,  and  with  no  more  visible  effect. 

But  as  Mr.  Braden  looked  at  French  he  seemed  to 
have  aged  in  the  last  few  weeks.  The  features  seemed 
more  prominent,  the  keen  face  leaner  and  more  deeply 
lined,  the  cold,  blue  eyes  more  weary  and  more  cynical. 

"You  look  a  little  pulled  down,"  Mr.  Braden  com- 
mented. "Perhaps  a  change  would  do  you  good." 

"If  I  could  change  the  last  thirty  years  for  the  next 
thirty,  it  might,"  French  agreed  grimly. 

276 


SUDDEN  DEATH  277 

"None  of  us  get  younger,"  said  Mr.  Braden.  "I 
myself  begin  to  feel  the — er — burden  of  the  years." 

"You're  not  old.     It's  the  burden  of  your  fat." 

"Ha-ha !"  Mr.  Braden  laughed  without  much  mirth. 
"But  what  seems  to  be  the  matter  with  you?" 

"The  life  that  is  behind  me,"  French  replied.  "You 
can't  eat  your  cake  and  have  it.  But  what  the  devil  is 
the  use  of  cake  if  you  don't  eat  it?  I've  eaten  my  cake 
and  enjoyed  it,  and  I'm  quite  willing  to  pay  when  the 
times  comes.  All  flesh  is  as  grass,  Braden — even  such 
a  quantity  as  yours." 

Mr.  Braden  shifted  uneasily.  Like  many  men  he 
found  any  reference  to  his  ultimate  extinction  unpleas- 
ant. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  of  course  we  must  all  pay  our  debt  to 
nature.  No  hurry  about  it,  though.  We  have  a  num- 
ber of  things  to  do  first." 

"We  merely  think  we  have,"  French  returned.  "It 
wouldn't  matter  in  the  least  if  we  both  snuffed  out 
to-night." 

"It  would  matter  to  me,"  Mr.  Braden  declared  with 
evident  sincerity. 

"But  to  nobody  else.  Who  would  care  a  curse  if  you 
died?" 

Offhand,  Mr.  Braden  could  not  answer  this  blunt 
question.  French  grinned  at  the  expression  of  his  face. 
"You  don't  like  to  face  the  inevitable,  Braden.  Well, 
S'mce  it  is  the  inevitable  it  doesn't  matter  whether  you 
like  it  or  not."  He  tossed  three  fingers  of  straight 
liquor  down  his  throat.  A  shade  of  color  came  into 
his  lean  cheeks  and  his  eyes  brightened.  "Have  you 
heard  anything  fresh  lately?" 

Mr.  Braden  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  authoritative. 
I  know  the  Airline  people  are  running  trial  lines  east 


278         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

of  here.  I  had  a  reply  to  my  letter  from  the  head  of 
their  real  estate  department — McKinley,  as  near  as  I 
could  make  out  the  signature — and  he  says  just  about 
half  a  page  of  nothing." 

"He  doesn't  want  to  tip  their  hand." 

"That's  what  I  think.  I  know  they  are  coming 
through  here,  and  when  they  do  it  will  kill  this  town, 
because  they  won't  come  within  fifteen  miles  of  it.  Well, 
in  a  week  or  so  I'll  own  the  Mackay  ranch,  and  be  in 
shape  to  make  them  a  definite  townsite  proposition  when- 
ever they  do  come.  There  isn't  a  better  natural  town- 
site  anywhere." 

"No  hold-up,"  French  warned.  "They  won't  stand 
for  it.  Give  them  a  good  slice  if  they  want  it." 

"I'll  do  that  because  I  can't  help  myself.  It's  lucky 
I've  been  able  to  bring  on  the  sale  so  soon.  You  were 
wrong  in  thinking  it  would  stop  the  girl  from  marrying 
Mackay,  though." 

"I  thought  she  would  have  more  sense  than  to  marry 
him  under  the  circumstances." 

"You've  heard  nothing  about  the — er — deeds  since 
you  gave  them  to  her?"  Mr.  Braden  asked. 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"Then  I  guess  it's  all  right.  When  I  sell  out  Mackay 
he'll  get  out  of  the  district  likely.  Just  as  well.  He 
might  find  out  something  if  he  stayed  around  here." 

"He  might,"  French  agreed.  "He  suspects  that  we 
split  up  the  biggest  part  of  the  price  that  Winton  was 
supposed  to  pay  for  the  land.'* 

"He  can't  prove  it.'* 

"And  possibly  he  suspects  that  you  are  responsible 
for  his  failure  to  get  a  new  loan.  He  may  even  suspect 
that  you  had  something  to  do  with  what  happened  to 
his  water  supply. 


SUDDEN  DEATH  279 

"No;  but  when  a  man  begins  to  suspect  he  interprets 
things  which  otherwise  would  carry  no  meaning.  So 
far  he  connects  us  only  through  the  original  transaction 
with  Winton.  If  he  knew  the  truth  he'd  probably  twist 
your  neck  like  a  chicken's." 

Mr.  Braden  moved  that  threatened  part  of  his 
anatomy  uneasily.  "He  wouldn't  dare  to  attempt  phys- 
ical violence." 

French  laughed.  "You  don't  know  that  young  man, 
Braden,  because  you're  a  different  breed.  I  know  him, 
because  I've  seen  his  kind  before.  I  made  a  mistake 
in  quarreling  with  him." 

"I'd  like  to  see  him  beaten  to  a  pulp,"  said  Mr. 
Braden  viciously,  "but  after  all,  it's  the  money  we  want. 
I'm  having  a  devil  of  a  time  to  keep  my  head  above 
water,  and  you're  broke." 

"Yes,  I'm  broke,"  French  admitted.  "These  things 
are  the  only  chance  I  see  of  getting  money.  When  a 
man  reaches  my  age  and  faces  poverty  to  which  he  is 
unaccustomed,  he  will  do  almost  anything  for  money. 
I  want  to  see  the  cities  and  some  of  the  men  I  knew 
thirty  years  ago,  before  I  die.  For  money  to  do  that 
I'd  give — give — I  would — give — " 

Something  seemed  to  have  gone  wrong  with  Godfrey 
French's  enunciation.  It  resembled  nothing  so  much 
as  a  phonographic  record  with  a  running-down  motor. 
He  did  not  stammer,  but  the  words  came  slowly  and 
then  blurred,  as  if  his  tongue  had  lost  power.  His  face, 
on  which  a  look  of  blank  wonder  had  come,  suddenly 
contorted,  his  hand  caught  at  his  breast,  he  threw  his 
head  back,  chin  up,  mouth  open,  gasping. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Mr.  Braden  cried,  startled 
at  this  sudden  transformation.  "Are  you  ill?  What — " 

"Get — "     Godfrey     French     muttered     indistinctly, 


280        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"get — "  He  fell  back  in  his  chair,  inert,  sagging  arms 
loose,  his  face  gray,  unconscious. 

For  an  instant  Mr.  Braden  stared  at  his  associate  hor- 
rified. It  was  as  if  he  had  been  seized,  struck  down  and 
throttled  by  an  invisible  hand  which  might  claim  another 
victim.  Recovering,  he  poured  a  glass  of  liquor  with  a 
shaking  hand,  and  shivered  as  the  rim  clinked  against 
the  unconscious  man's  teeth.  He  ran  to  the  door. 

"Help !"  he  shouted  wildly  to  the  echoing  darkness 
of  the  hall.  "Come,  somebody!  Help!" 

His  call  was  answered  by  Kathleen  and  young  Larry. 

"Your  father!"  Mr.  Braden  quavered.  But  Kathleen, 
pushing  past  him,  ran  to  her  father's  side. 

"He  has  a  hypodermic  somewhere,"  she  said.  "Look 
in  his  room,  Larry,  quick !"  Young  Larry  bounded  for 
the  stairs.  "He  has  had  these  attacks  before,  but  this  is 
the  worst." 

"I'll  go  for  the  doctor,"  Mr.  Braden  offered. 

"Larry  will  go.  Your  horse  isn't  fast  enough.  I  wish 
you'd  stay  here,  if  you  don't  mind.  The  other  boys  are 
out  and  I'm  alone." 

But  in  a  moment  Larry  returned  with  a  hypodermic 
syringe  in  its  case  and  a  vial  of  tablets.  Kathleen  dis- 
solved one  of  the  latter,  and  baring  her  father's  arm 
administered  the  injection  with  a  swiftness  and  steadi- 
ness which  commanded  Mr.  Braden's  admiration. 
"We'd  better  get  him  up  to  his  room,"  she  said, 

Larry  picked  up  his  father's  inert  body  and  mounted 
the  stairs.  He  laid  him  on  his  bed. 

"I'll  look  after  him  now,"  Kathleen  said.  "You  won't 
mind  waiting  till  Larry  comes  back,  Mr.  Braden?  And 
— ride,  Larry!" 

Mr.  Braden  returned  to  the  study.  In  a  few  moments 
he  heard  the  dancing  rataplan  of  the  hoofs  of  an  eager, 


SUDDEN  DEATH  281 

nervous  horse,  a  curse  from  Larry,  the  hoof-beats 
clamored  past,  steadied  to  a  drumming  roar,  and  died 
in  the  distance.  Evidently  Larry  was  riding  at  a  pace 
which  probably  meant  a  foundered  horse. 

Mr.  Braden  helped  himself  to  a  drink.  Inadver- 
tently he  sat  down  in  the  chair  which  had  held  Godfrey 
French,  and  suddenly  realizing  that  fact  vacated  it 
hastily.  Outside  the  wind  had  increased  to  a  gale,  and 
with  it  was  rain.  The  window  was  open  and  the  drawn 
blind  slatted  to  and  fro.  Mr.  Braden  selected  another 
chair  and  sat  down. 

But  in  a  moment  he  arose,  went  to  the  door  and 
listened.  Leaving  it  ajar  he  went  to  the  desk  and  pro- 
ceeded to  pull  out  drawer  after  drawer,  rooting  among 
their  contents.  Not  finding  what  he  sought  he  turned 
to  the  safe.  He  stared  at  the  impassive  face  of  the 
dial,  shook  his  head,  half  turned  away,  and  then  caught 
the  handle  and  twisted  it.  To  his  amazement  the  bolts 
snicked  back.  Apparently  whoever  had  closed  the  safe 
had  neglected  to  turn  the  knob  of  the  combination. 

Mr.  Braden  burrowed  in  the  safe's  contents,  and  with 
an  exclamation  of  satisfaction  seized  a  packet  of  legal- 
looking  documents  bound  by  a  rubber  band.  He  stripped 
off  the  band  and  riffled  the  papers.  Apparently  he  found 
what  he  sought,  for  he  selected  two  documents,  replacing 
the  rest.  Then,  crossing  the  room  to  the  light  he  opened 
the  documents  and  proceeded  to  verify  them  by  glancing 
at  their  signatures. 

As  he  stood  he  fronted  the  window ;  and  as  he  raised 
his  eyes  from  the  perusal  the  down  blind  bellied  and 
lifted  with  a  gust  of  wind.  In  the  enlarged  opening 
thus  made  Mr.  Braden  saw  or  thought  he  saw,  a  face. 
It  was  but  the  merest  glimpse  he  had  of  it,  white  with 
the  reflected  light  of  the  lamp.  For  an  instant  it  stood 


282        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

out  against  the  darkness,  and  then  the  blind  dropped 
back  into  place,  hiding  it. 

Hastily  Mr.  Braden  shoved  the  papers  in  his  pocket, 
while  a  gentle  but  clammy  perspiration  broke  out  upon 
his  forehead.  But  had  he  actually  seen  a  face,  or  was  it 
some  freak  of  vision?  He  went  to  the  window,  raised 
the  blind  and  peeped  out.  It  was  pitch  dark  and  rain- 
ing hard,  but  across  from  him  there  was  a  glint  of  white, 
and  in  a  moment  he  identified  it  as  merely  a  painted 
post  of  a  fence  glistening  in  the  rain.  So  that  was  the 
"face."  Mr.  Braden's  heart  resumed  its  normal  action. 
He  closed  the  safe,  spun  the  combination,  sat  down  and 
picking  up  a  paper  began  to  read. 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  later  when  Dr.  Wilkes 
arrived.  He  came  alone,  Larry  having  gone  in  search 
of  his  brothers.  Mr.  Braden  listened  to  the  sound  of 
low  voices,  of  footsteps  coming  and  going  on  the  floor 
above.  Finally  Wilkes  came  down. 

"And  how  is  the  patient?"  Mr.  Braden  asked. 

"Gone  out." 

"Gone  out?   You  don't  mean — " 

Dr.  Wilkes  nodded.  Between  him  and  Mr.  Braden 
there  was  little  cordiality. 

"What  was  the — er — cause  of  death?" 

"Valvular  cardiac  disease  of  long  standing." 

"Poor  fellow,  poor  fellow!"  Mr.  Braden  sorrowed, 
his  hand  involuntarily  caressing  the  papers  in  his  inside 
pocket.  "You  never  can — or — that  is  in  the  midst  of 
life  we  are  in  death.  Why,  only  an  hour  or  so  ago  he 
was  planning  for  a  trip  abroad." 

"He's  on  a  longer  trip,"  Wilkes  said  grimly. 

But  the  pounding  of  hoofs  outside  indicated  that 
Larry  had  found  his  brothers.  In  a  moment  he  entered 
with  Gavin  and  Gerald.  Dr.  Wilkes  did  not  soften  his 


SUDDEN  DEATH  283 

reply  to  Gerald's  quick  question.  They  stared  at  him, 
stupefied.  It  seemed  to  Mr.  Braden  that  he  should 
express  his  sympathy. 

"My  dear  boys,"  he  said,  "I  assure  you  that  I  feel 
for  you  in  this  dark  hour.  Providence  in  its  inscrutable 
wisdom  has  seen  fit — " 

But  Gavin  interrupted  him. 

"Cut  it  out !"  he  growled.  "We  don't  want  any  stuff 
like  that  from  you!" 

Shortly  afterward  Mr.  Braden  found  himself  driving 
homeward.  The  rain  had  turned  the  road  into  mud, 
and  was  still  coming  down.  It  drove  though  the  lap- 
robe,  wetted  his  knees  and  trickled  down  the  back  of  his 
neck.  He  was  thoroughly  uncomfortable.  Nevertheless 
he  reflected  that  Providence  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom 
sometimes  arranged  things  well.  Once  more  his  hands 
pressed  the  papers  in  his  pocket.  Arriving  at  his  apart- 
ments he  placed  them  in  an  old-fashioned  iron  safe 
which  was  operated  by  a  key  instead  of  a  combination. 
There  were  two  keys.  One  Mr.  Braden  carried  with 
others  on  a  ring.  The  other  hung  upon  a  single  nail 
driven  into  the  wall  immediately  behind  and  concealed 
by  the  safe  itself.  As  it  was  dark  there  and  as  the  safe 
was  very  close  to  the  wall,  it  seemed  a  very  secure  hiding 
place.  On  this  occasion  Mr.  Braden  used  the  latter  key, 
because  he  had  changed  his  wet  garments  and  left  his 
key-ring  with  them. 

But  Mr.  Braden's  trust  in  Providence  might  have 
lessened — or  increased — had  he  known  that  outside, 
chinning  himself  against  the  window-sill  which  he  had 
just  managed  to  reach  from  the  rickety  steps,  hung  Tur- 
key Mackay;  and  that,  further,  the  said  Turkey  had 
been  a  witness  to  the  manner  in  which  the  papers  had 
come  into  the  possession  of  Mr.  Braden. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

STRANGERS  ASK  QUESTIONS 

WHEN  Faith  and  Angus  got  back  to  the  ranch 
Godfrey  French's  funeral  was  over.  Faith  did 
not  pretend  to  be  specially  grieved. 

"But  of  course  I  must  go  and  see  Kathleen,"  she  said. 

She  went  alone,  for  Angus  would  not  go.  He  held 
no  particular  ill-feeling  toward  Godfrey  French,  but  as 
French  had  held  it  toward  him  he  thought  it  best  to 
stay  away.  When  Faith  had  gone  he  pottered  about 
the  'house,  stables  and  sheds,  taking  an  inventory,  esti- 
mating the  value  of  the  things  he  could  sell,  deciding 
where  they  could  be  sold  to  the  best  advantage.  There 
were  the  tools,  implements,  rigs,  cut  crops,  horses  and 
stock  on  the  range.  He  jotted  down  a  rough  estimate 
and  frowned  at  the  result.  Still  it  was  the  best  he 
could  do. 

Chetwood  appeared.     "Busy?"  he  queried. 

"I've  just  been  figuring  up  what  I  can  sell  and  what 
I  can  get  for  it," 

"You  haven't  sold  anything  yet?'* 

"No,  I'll  hold  off  till"  the  place  itself  is  sold." 

"Somebody  might  bid  it  up  to  a  good  figure." 

"Nobody  is  apt  to  bid.  Nobody  here  with  enough 
loose  money.  No,  Braden  '11  get  the  place,  I  guess." 

"Old  blighter!"  Chetwood  grunted.  "But  you  never 
can  tell.  'The  best-laid  schemes  of  mice  and  men'  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing.  Let's  talk  of  something  else — 
something  I  want  to  talk  about." 

"Fire  away,"  said  Angus. 

284 


STRANGERS  ASK  QUESTIONS         285 

"Jean  and  I  are  thinking  of  getting  married,"  Chet- 
wood told  him  bluntly. 

"The  devil  you  are  1"  Angus  exclaimed.  He  was  not 
exactly  surprised  at  the  news,  but  at  the  time  of  its 
announcement. 

"I  like  you,"  Angus  admitted,  "but  I  don't  know  a 
great  deal  about  you.  You're  working  for  wages  which 
aren't  very  large.  They  won't  keep  two." 

"No  more  they  will,"  Chetwood  replied.  "Jean  sug- 
gests that  I  take  up  a  homestead."  Angus  shook  his 
head.  "You  don't  like  the  idea?  No  more  do  I.  I 
shan't  do  it." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  you  will  do?  I  gathered 
that  you  lost  what  money  you  had  in  some  fool  invest- 
ment. You  never  told  me  what  it  was." 

"I  don't  look  on  it  as  totally  lost,"  Chetwood  re- 
sponded. "It  may  be  all  right  some  'day.  One  thing 
I'll  promise  you,  old  man,  I  won't  marry  Jean  till  I 
have  something  definite  to  go  on." 

"Good  boy!"  Angus  approved.  "That's  sense.  I'm 
going  to  look  up  a  bunch  of  land  in  one  of  the  new 
districts.  When  I  find  what  I  want  Jean  will  come  and 
live  with  us,  of  course.  Then  we  might  make  some 
arrangement — if  you  want  to  buck  the  ranching  game." 

When  Chetwood  had  gone,  presumably  to  find  Jean, 
Angus  was  restless.  He  liked  Chetwood,  but  the  Lord 
alone  knew  when  the  latter  would  be  in  shape  to  support 
a  wife  unless  somebody  helped  him.  He  would  have  to 
do  that.  The  fancy  took  him  to  walk  around  the  ranch 
for  a  last  look  as  owner.  As  he  walked  a  hundred  recol- 
lections crowded  upon  him.  Here  there  had  been  a  good 
crop  in  one  year;  there  a  failure  in  another.  Here 
was  the  place  where  he  had  first  held  the  handles  of  a 
plow.  This  was  where  a  team  had  run  away  with  a 


286        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

mower.  He  arrived  at  the  gate  and  looked  back  over 
the  fields.  To-day  they  were  his ;  to-morrow  in  all  likeli- 
hood they  would  belong  to  Braden. 

Looking  up  the  road  he  saw  a  light  rig  with  two 
men.  One  of  them  was  standing  up  in  it,  apparently 
surveying  his  surroundings  through  a  pair  of  field 
glasses.  Presently  he  sat  down  and  the  team  came  on. 
By  the  gate  the  driver  pulled  up  and  nodded. 

"Afternoon!"  he  said.  He  was  a  thickset,  deeply 
tanned  man  of  middle  age,  wkh  a  shrewd,  blue  eye. 
He  wore  a  suit  which,  though  old,  was  of  excellently 
cut  tweed,  and  his  trousers  were  shoved  into  nailed 
cruisers.  His  companion  was  younger,  stout,  round- 
faced  and  more  carefully  dressed,  but  he,  too,  possessed 
a  shrewd  eye.  Neither  looked  like  a  rancher,  and  both 
were  strangers  to  Angus.  Between  them  rested  an 
instrument  of  some  sort,  hooded,  which  looked  like  a 
level. 

"Nice  ranch,  this,"  said  the  driver,     "Yours?" 

"Yes  " 

"For  sale?" 

"Yes,"  Angus  told  him  grimly. 

"How  much  have  you  got  here  ?"  the  second  stranger 
asked.  Angus  told  him.  "En  bloc?" 

"Yes." 

"What  do  you  hold  it  at?" 

"I  don't  hold  it  at  anything.  It  will  be  sold  to-mor- 
row by  public  sale  under  a  mortgage." 

The  two  men  exchanged  glances  and  eyed  Angus  with 
curiosity. 

"Who  holds  the  mortgage?"  the  younger,  man  asked. 

"Isaac  J.  Braden." 

"Braden,  hey!  Isn't  that  the  fellow — "  He  spoke 
swiftly  in  an  undertone  to  his  companion,  who  nodded. 


STRANGERS  ASK  QUESTIONS          287' 

"We've  heard  of  him.  Local  big  bug,  isn't  he?  What's 
the  amount  against  the  property?"  He  whistled  when 
Angus  told  him.  "Why  didn't  you  get  a  loan  some- 
where and  pay  him  off?" 

"Because  I  couldn't.  Nobody  would  lend.  The  loan 
companies'  appraisers — well,  they  shied  off." 

"Braden  fixed  them,  did  he?"  the  other  deduced. 
"Knocked  the  loan,  hey?  Knocked  you  PS  a  borrower! 
Shoved  you  to  the  wall.  Thinks  he'll  bid  the  place  in. 
Anybody  else  want  it?  No — or  you'd  have  made  some 
deal." 

"That's  about  the  size  of  it,"  Angus  admitted,  sur- 
prised at  the  swift  accuracy  of  these  deductions. 

"Will  it  leave  you  stranded?" 

"Nearly.     Not  quite." 

"Folks  depending  on  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  to  mind  my  own  darn  busi- 
ness?" 

"I  came  near  it,"  Angus  admitted;  "but  you  look  as  if 
you  know  enough  to  do  that  without  being  told." 

The  stout  man  chuckled.  "I  think  I  do,  myself.  If 
I  had  known  of  this  place  before  I'd  have  made  you 
some  sort  of  an  offer  for  it.  As  it  is,  I'll  go  to  that 
sale  to-morrow.  Good  day.  Drive  on,  Floyd." 

Angus  watched  them  drive  away  and  turned  back  to 
the  house.  It  seemed  that  Braden  might  have  opposi- 
tion, and  apart  from  financial  reasons  he  was  glad  of 
it.  The  strangers  did  not  look  like  ranchers.  Specu- 
lators, likely.  Anyway,  it  had  not  taken  the  stout  fellow 
long  to  size  Braden  up.  But  if  he  could  have  over- 
heard the  conversation  between  the  two  strangers  as 
they  drove  away  he  would  have  been  more  surprised  at 
the  accuracy  of  their  mental  workings. 


288        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Things  like  that,"  the  man  called  Floyd  observed 
jerking  his  head  backward,  "always  get  my  goat.  I'll 
bet  that  young  fellow's  got  the  raw  end  of  some  dirty 
deal.  He's  taking  a  bitter  dose  of  medicine.  You  can 
see  it  in  his  face." 

"And  I  can  make  a  pretty  fair  guess  what  it  is,"  the 
other  responded.  "This  fellow  Braden  has  been  trying 
to  get  information  about  our  construction  plans.  He 
hinted  that  he  had  some  sort  of  a  townsite  proposition 
to  make  to  us,  and  if  that  place  back  there  is  it  I  give 
him  credit  for  a  good  eye.  He  doesn't  seem  to  have 
been  very  particular  about  how  he  went  to  work  to  get 
hold  of  it  himself." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Mac?" 

"What  I  should  do,"  the  other  replied,  frowning 
thoughtfully,  "is  to  make  a  dicker  with  Braden  to  take 
over  the  land  at  a  reasonable  profit,  after  he  had  bid  it 
in  for  the  amount  of  his  dinky  mortgage.  That's  my 
plain  duty  to  my  employers,  the  Northern  Airline, 
Mountain  Section,  for  which  they  pay  me  a  salary,  large 
it  is  true,  but  small  in  comparison  with  my  talents." 

Floyd  grinned.  "Yes,  I  know  you  should  do  that. 
But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Well,"  the  man  called  Mac  admitted,  "I  do  hate 
&  see  a  shark  get  away  with  anything  but  the  hook. 
Besides,  it  looks  to  me  as  if  Braden,  if  he  got  hold  of 
the  property  would  try  to  double-cross  us.  I'll  bet  he'd 
hold  us  up  for  some  fancy  price.  So  it's  my  duty  to 
see  he  doesn't  get  a  chance.  The  property  is  just  about 
what  we  want.  There's  room  for  a  good,  little  town. 
With  that  creek,  a  natural  gravity  water  system  could 
be  put  in.  No  trouble  about  drainage.  You  can  get 
power,  too.  A  subsidiary  company  formed  to  handle 
that  end  would  pay  well  in  a  few  years  when  the  place 


STRANGERS  ASK  QUESTIONS         289 

got  going.  Ah,  it's  a  bird  of  a  proposition — too  good 
to  take  any  chances  on." 

"That's  your  end,"  Floyd  nodded.  "We  go  ahead 
and  find  the  grades  and  put  'em  in,  and  you  fat  office 
guys  come  along  and  clean  up.  Well,  Healey's  notes 
are  all  right  so  far.  Easy  construction  through  here. 
I'll  send  young  Davis  in  right  away  and  let  him  run 
a  trial  line  east,  for  Broderick  to  tie  into." 

"Don't  be  in  a  hurry,"  the  other  responded.  "Trou- 
ble with  you  roughneck  engineers,  you  think  all  there  is 
to  a  railroad  is  building  it.  You  wait  till  I  pick  up  what 
I  want.  I  could  fix  it  with  Braden,  but  he'd  get  the 
profit,  and  that  young  fellow  back  there  would  go  broke, 
as  he  said.  I  think  I'll  try  to  fix  it  so  he  gets  the  profit. 
I'll  just  bid  the  place  in  over  Braden,  and  the  young 
fellow  will  get  any  surplus  over  the  mortgage  claim. 
It  will  be  just  as  cheap  for  us." 

"And  the  trouble  with  you,"  said  the  chief  of  North- 
ern Airline  construction  to  its  chief  right-of-way  and 
natural  resources  man,  "is  that  you're  mushy  about  men 
in  hard  luck.  I  know  some  corporations  you  wouldn't 
last  with  as  long  as  a  pint  of  red-eye  in  a  Swede  rock 
gang." 

"You're  such  a  hard-hearted  guy  yourself!"  sneered 
Mac,  his  round  face  reddening  perceptibly.  "No  bowels 
of  compassion.  Practical  man  !  Dam'  hypocrite  !  Yah ! 
you  make  me  sick!" 

Mr.  Floyd  also  reddened  perceptibly.  "Oh,  well, 
I've  been  in  hard  luck  myself,"  he  said. 

"So  Ve  I,"  his  friend  admitted.  "I  know  what  the 
gaff  feels  like.  Well — stir  up  those  horses.  We've 
got  a  long  way  to  go," 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  AUCTION 

THE  sale  was  to  take  place  at  noon  in  the  sheriff's 
office.  After  breakfast  Angus  went  down  to  the 
corrals.  Faith  followed  him. 

"I'd  like  to  go  with  you  to  the  sale." 

"Why?"  he  asked. 

"I'd  just  like  to  be  with  you." 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment.  In  his  life  this 
solicitude,  almost  maternal,  was  a  new  thing. 

"Why,  old  girl,  I  believe  you  think  I  can't  stand  the 
gaff.  But  if  you  like,  we'll  take  our  medicine  together." 

Toward  noon  they  entered  the  sheriff's  office.  Braden 
was  already  there  with  his  lawyer,  Parks,  talking  with 
the  sheriff.  Presently  entered  the  two  strangers  with 
whom  Angus  'had  talked  the  day  before.  The  stout 
man  smiled  and  nodded,  with  a  quick  appraising  glance 
at  Faith.  Then  came  Judge  Riley,  and  with  him,  to 
Angus'  surprise,  was  Chetwood. 

'  'Under  and  by  virtue  of  the  power  of  sale  con- 
tained in  a  certain  mortgage  bearing  date — and  made 
between — '  " 

The  sheriff's  voice  droned  on.  Angus  paid  scanty 
attention.  Now  that  he  was  there  "to  stand  the  gaff" 
his  feelings  were  almost  impersonal. 

"What  am  I  offered  for  this  property?"  the  sheriff 
having  stated  the  conditions  of  sale  was  getting  down  to 
business. 

"Ten  thousand  dollars."  This  from  Mr.  Braden. 
The  amount  was  slightly  more  than  his  mortgage  claim. 

290 


THE  AUCTION  291 

"Ten  thousand  dollars  I  am  offered.  Ten  thousand. 
Are  there  any  other  offers?  If  not — "  The  sheriff 
paused,  sweeping  the  room  with  his  eye.  Braden,  look- 
ing at  Angus,  permitted  himself  a  grin.  "If  not, 
then—" 

"Twelve  thousand."  It  was  the  stout  man,  Mac. 
Having  uttered  the  two  words  he  resumed  a  conversa^ 
tion  with  his  friend. 

"Twelve  thousand?"  the  sheriff  repeated.  "Was  that 
right  sir?  You  bid  twelve  thousand,  Mr. — er — " 

"McGinity,"  the  stout  man  supplied. 

"Twelve  thousand  I  am  offered.     Any  other  offers?" 

"Thirteen,"  said  Mr.  Braden. 

"Fourteen,"  said  McGinity  on  the  heels  of  Braden's 
voice. 

Faith  whispered,  "Who  is  he?" 

"I  don't  know.  He  was  out  at  the  ranch  yesterday. 
I  think  he'll  run  Braden  up." 

Braden  whispered  to  his  lawyer,  who  shook  his  head. 

"Fifteen  thousand." 

"Sixteen." 

Mr.  Braden  frowned,  hesitated  and  went  over  to 
Mr.  McGinity. 

"We  seem  to  be  opposing  each  other,"  he  observed. 

"Does  seem  like  it." 

"Perhaps  we  could  reach  an  understanding — 
privately.  As  it  stands,  we  are  running  the  price  up." 

"I  can  stand  it  so  far,"  said  Mr.  McGinity. 

"But  we  are  cutting  into  each  other.  If  you  have 
reached  your  top  figure  I  will  give  you  five  hundred  on 
it." 

"I  haven't  any  top  figure — except  the  value  of  the 
property  to  me." 

"You  have  bid  all  the  property  is  worth." 


292        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Mr.  McGinity  grinned.  "Then  naturally  you  won't 
bid  any  more,"  said  he. 

"I  have — er — sentimental  reasons  for  desiring  this 
property.  You  won't  enter  into  any  arrangement?" 

"Not  just  now." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Braden.  "Sixteen  thousand, 
five  hundred,  Mr.  Sheriff." 

"Seventeen,"  said  Mr.  McGinity,  idly  creasing  his 
hat. 

Again  Mr.  Braden  conferred  with  Parks.  He  raised 
the  bid  five  hundred,  and  again  the  stranger  tilted  it. 
The  latter  did  so  nonchalantly.  Between  bids  he  con- 
versed with  his  friend.  But  when  Mr.  Braden  had  bid 
nineteen  thousand,  five  hundred,  he  shot  it  to  twenty- 
one  thousand. 

Though  the  perspiration  stood  upon  Mr.  Braden's 
brow,  his  pedal  extremities  began  to  suffer  from  cold. 
He  had  not  expected  any  opposition.  The  conditions 
of  sale  were  stringent,  as  he  had  intended  them  to  be, 
with  a  view  of  choking  off  others ;  but  just  then,  though 
few  knew  it,  certain  unfortunate  speculations  had 
strained  his  credit  very  badly.  Twenty-one  thousand 
was  a  large  sum,  more  than  he  could  count  on  with 
certainty  unless  he  had  time  to  raise  more  on  the  security 
of  the  property  itself,  even  though  part  of  it  was  his 
mortgage  claim.  But  he  wanted  the  property  very  badly 
— needed  it,  in  fact.  Who  the  deuce  was  this  McGinity? 

And  then,  suddenly,  he  saw  light.  "McGinity"  was 
the  translation  of  certain  hieroglyphics  appended  to 
letters  he  had  received  from  the  Northern  Airline.  He 
had  translated  them  into  "McKinley,"  but  with  con- 
siderable doubt.  So  his  competitor  for  possession  of 
the  Mackay  ranch  was  the  Airline  itself ! 

So  that  was  what  he  was  up  against !    Mackay,  some- 


THE  AUCTION  293 

how,  must  have  gotten  wind  of  his  intentions,  and 
himself  entered  into  negotiations  with  the  railway;  and 
these  must  have  reached  a  definite  point. 

It  was  a  difficult  situation  for  Mr.  Braden.  He  saw 
his  dream  of  carving  up  a  choice  townsite — of  seeing 
it  grow  in  value  by  leaps  and  bounds — go  glimmering. 
He  hated  to  drop  out.  But  what  was  the  use  of  going 
on?  McGinity  would  bid  up  to  whatever  he  thought 
the  proposition  worth,  and  not  a  dollar  more.  More 
than  that,  if  he,  Braden,  overtopped  that  figure,  they 
would  let  him  keep  the  land,  and  they  would  make  a 
townsite  elsewhere.  Mr.  Braden  was  under  no  delu- 
sions. He  had  known  landowners  who  had  held  the 
mistaken  belief  that  a  strong  corporation  could  be  forced 
to  adopt  a  certain  location  for  a  townsite  merely  because 
it  was  the  best.  The  said  landowners  still  owned  the 
land,  but  it  was  not  a  town. 

"Twenty-one  thousand!"  the  sheriff  repeated.  "Any 
advance?  A  very  valuable  property,  gentlemen."  He 
looked  at  Mr.  Braden.  That  gentleman  sadly  shook 
his  head.  No,  he  was  out  of  it.  "Then,"  said  the 
sheriff,  "if  there  is  no  higher  bid,  I — " 

"Twenty-two  thousand !" 

It  was  Chetwood,  and  the  effect  was  explosive.  Mr. 
Braden  stared,  open-mouthed.  McGinity  and  Floyd 
turned  and  eyed  him.  Faith  gasped,  clutching  Angus' 
arm. 

"Why — why,"  she  whispered,  "how  can  he — you 
told  me  he  had  lost  all  his  money!" 

"So  he  told  me.  He  must  be  running  some  sort  of  a 
blazer.  Only,  of  course,  it  won't  go.  It's  foolish  of 
him  to  try." 

The  sheriff  seemed  to  share  Angus'  view.  Mr. 
Braden  whispered  to  him.  He  frowned. 


THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  know  the  conditions  of  sale,  young  man?" 

"I  heard  you  state  them." 

"You  are  able  to  meet  them?" 

"May  I  point  out,"  said  Chetwood,  "that  you  have 
not  asked  that  question  of  any  previous  bidder.  Why 
favor  me?" 

"Well — er — you  see — "  the  sheriff  was  slightly  em- 
barrassed— "I  understand  that  you  are  working  for 
Mr.  Mackay." 

"Quite  so.    And  what  of  it?" 

"A  man  who  can  pay  twenty-two  thousand  for  a 
ranch  doesn't  often  work  on  it  as  a  hired  man,"  the 
sheriff  pointed  out. 

"It  is  absolutely  none  of  your  business,  official  or 
private,  for  whom,  or  for  what,  or  at  what  I  work," 
Chetwood  retorted.  "I  make  that  bid,  and  I  demand 
that  you  receive  it." 

Faith  laughed  softly.    Angus  stared  at  his  hired  man. 

"I  may  tell  you,  Mr.  Sheriff,"  the  court  voice  of 
Judge  Riley  filled  the  room,  "that  this  gentleman  is 
quite  able  to  meet  the  conditions  of  sale  in  any  offer  he 
may  make." 

"Twenty-three  thousand,"  said  Mr.  McGinity  ex- 
perimentally. 

"Twenty-four,"  Chetwood  returned. 

Mr.  McGinity  turned  to  his  friend.  "Now  what  the 
devil  is  up?  I've  raised  Braden  out.  Who's  this  young 
fellow?  And  what's  this  about  his  working  for  Mac- 
kay?" 

"I'm  an  engineer  and  an  honest  man,"  Floyd  re- 
turned. "This  is  your  end,  Mac.  But  if  I  were  doing 
it,  I'd  get  together  with  those  boys,  now  that  the  old 
cuss  is  out  of  it." 

"I  always  said  you  had  too  much  brains  for  an  en- 


THE  AUCTION  295 

gineer,"  Mr.  McGinity  retorted.  He  crossed  the  room 
to  Angus  and  bowed  to  Faith. 

"Suppose  you  tell  me  what  the  idea  is?"  he  said.  "Is 
this  young  fellow  bidding  for  you?" 

"You  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do,"  Angus  Con- 
fessed, and  beckoned  to  Chetwood.  "What  are  you 
up  to,  anyway?"  he  demanded  of  the  latter.  "I  thought 
you  were  broke.  You  told  me  so." 

"I  told  you  my  income  had  stopped — temporarily," 
Chetwood  replied.  "So  it  had.  If  you  had  ever  said 
a  word  about  money  troubles  I  would  have  fixed  them 
like  a  shot,  but  you  never  even  mentioned  'em.  So  now 
I'm  going  to  buy  the  ranch  in." 

"How  high  will  you  go?"  Mr.  McGinity  asked. 
"Hold  on,  now — wait  a  minute.  I  represent  the  North- 
ern Airline,  which  is  going  to  build  through  here,  and 
this  property  is  valuable  to  us.  I'm  prepared  to  go  fairly 
high  myself  to  get  it.  That  means  that  we  are  prepared 
to  pay  the  owner  a  good  price.  Now,  instead  of  crazy 
bidding,  can't  we  come  to  an  arrangement?" 

"Have  you  any  connection  with  Braden?"  Chetwood 
asked. 

"Hell,  no!"  Mr.  McGinity  replied.  "Didn't  you 
just  see  me  raise  him  out?  And  I  can  raise  you  out, 
young  man,  if  you  won't  act  sensibly,  unless  you  have 
a  mighty  big  roll  back  of  you." 

"Oh,  no,  you  can't,"  Chetwood  replied  cheerfully. 
He  drew  McGinity  to  one  side.  "Because,  you  see," 
he  explained,  "I'm  really  bidding  the  property  in  for 
Mackay,  though  he  doesn't  know  it.  So,  you  see,  I 
never  have  to  put  up  real  money  at  all,  except  enough  to 
satisfy  old  Braden's  claim,  and  technically  satisfy  the 
conditions  of  sale.  I  buy  the  property,  hand  stage  money 
to  Mackay,  he  hands  it  back  to  me — and  there  you  are ! 


296        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

The  only  real  money  is  what  Braden  gets." 

"And  suppose  Mackay  doesn't  come  through,"  Mr. 
McGinity  speculated  wisely.  "Suppose  I  forced  you 
up — away  up — and  Mackay  found  that  as  a  result  his 
ranch  had  brought  a  top-notch  price  which  he  was  en- 
titled to  most  of;  and  suppose  he  stood  pat  and  insisted 
on  receiving  it.  Where  would  you  get  off  at  then?" 

Chetwood  laughed.  "Braden  might  do  that.  Mac- 
kay isn't  that  kind.  We're  friends,  and  I'm  going  to 
marry  his  sister.  Raise  away,  if  you  feel  like  it." 

Mr.  McGinity's  eyes  twinkled.  "Not  on  your  life," 
he  said.  "The  combination  is  too  many  for  me."  The 
sheriff  impatiently  claimed  recognitioin.  "I'm  through, 
Mr.  Sheriff.  The  last  bid  is  good  as  far  as  I'm  con- 
cerned." 

The  sheriff  looked  at  Mr.  Braden,  who  shook  his 
head.  And  thus  the  Mackay  ranch  came  into  the  nom- 
inal possession  of  Chetwood. 

Angus,  throttling  his  pride,  held  out  his  hand. 

"You've  got  a  good  ranch,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  it's 
you.  If  you  marry  Jean  it  will  be  staying  in  the  family, 
anyway.  I'll  be  moving  out  as  soon — " 

"You'll  be  doing  nothing  of  the  kind,"  Chetwood  told 
him.  "Do  you  think  I'm  such  a  dashed  cad  as  that? 
I'm  buying  the  ranch  for  you,  of  course.  You  can  pay 
me  what  I'll  pay  Braden,  when  you  like,  and  if  you  never 
feel  like  it  nobody  will  worry." 

Angus  stared  at  him  dazedly.  For  the  first  time  in 
years  his  eyes  were  misty;  but  his  innate  pride  still  held. 

"It's  good  of  you,"  he  said.  "Oh,  it's  damned  good 
of  you,  but — I  can't  stand  for  it." 

"Afraid  you'll  jolly  well  have  to,  my  boy,"  Chetwood 
grinned  cheerfully.  "You  can't  help  yourself,  you 
know." 


THE  AUCTION  297 

"But  I  can't  allow—" 

"Don't  I  tell  you,  you'll  have  to.  Don't  be  such  a 
bally  ass,  or  strike  me  pink  if  I  don't  punch  your  beastly 
head  here  and  now !  Can't  you  take  a  little  help  from  a 
friend  who  would  take  it  from  you?  Mrs.  Angus,  for 
heaven's  sake  make  this  lunatic  listen  to  reason!" 

Faith  laughed  happily.  "He  wouldn't  let  me  help 
him,"  she  said.  "Give  him  time,  Mr.  Chetwood." 

As  Chetwood  waited  to  comply  with  the  necessary 
formalities  Mr.  McGinity  touched  him  on  the  arm. 

"I  want  to  make  a  proposition  to  whoever  owns  that 
land — you  or  Mackay,"  he  said.  "I'd  rather  make  it 
to  you,  because  I  can  see  you  know  more  about  business 
than  he  does.  The  Airline  isn't  any  philanthropic  in- 
stitution, of  course,  but  we'll  play  fair  with  you  and 
Mackay." 

"Thanks  very  much,"  said  Chetwood,  a  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

"Oh,  I  mean  it,"  Mr.  McGinity  assured  him.  "You 
seem  a  pretty  bright  young  fellow.  If  you  haven't  got 
too  much  money  to  take  a  good  job,  I  can  place  you  in 
my  department." 

"But  you  see,"  Chetwood  returned,  "I've  already  got 
a  job  with  your  company." 

"What?"  cried  Mr.  McGinity.  "What  kind  of  a 
con  game  is  this?  What  department  are  you  in?" 

"I'm  a  director.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Sir  Eustace 
Chetwood?" 

Mr.  McGinity  gasped.  "Are  you  trying  to  kid  me? 
Sir  Eustace  Chetwood  was  one  of  our  English  directors, 
but  he's  dead.  And  he  was  about  eighty  years  old." 

"Quite  right,"  Chetwood  nodded.  "He  died  a  few 
months  ago,  and  by  virtue  of  the  shares  in  your  corpora- 
tion which  he  left  to  me,  I  was  elected  to  fill  his  place. 


298        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

I'm  his  nephew,  you  see.  As  to  the  title,  it's  hereditary, 
and  I  can't  help  it." 

"Sir  Eustace  Chetwoodl"  gasped  Mr.  McGinity. 
"Good  Lord!" 

"Well,  I'm  not  using  either  title  at  present,"  Chet- 
wood  grinned.  "Just  keep  it  dark,  like  a  good  fellow. 
I  don't  want  to  be  plagued  by  a  lot  of  blighters  who 
can't  see  me  at  all  as  a  thirty-dollar  ranch  hand.  My 
real  friends  are  just  beginning  to  call  me  'Bill' — and  I 
like  it.  I  say,  Mr.  McGinity,  if  you  should  ever  call 
me  'Bill,'  I'd  call  you  'Mac'." 

"Is  that  so,  Bill?"  said  Mr.  McGinity,  who  was  a 
gentlemen  of  easy  adjustments. 

"It  are  so,  Mac!"  Chetwood  laughed.  "See  you  later 
about  that  proposition.  Remember,  you  are  to  play 
fair." 


CHAPTER  XXXXII 

CHETWOOD  UNMASKED 

AS  Angus  drove  homeward  he  was  at  first  unable 
to  adjust  himself  to  actuality.  He  had  given  up 
all  hope  of  retaining  the  ranch.  The  wrench  of 
loss  had  been  over.  But  now  the  ranch  was  his  again, 
subject  to  the  debt  already  existing,  to  keep  if  he  chose. 

But  he  realized  that  it  would  be  folly  to  retain  it  as 
a  ranch,  to  refuse  a  proposition  which  McGinity  had 
just  made  amounting  to  a  fifty-fifty  partnership  with  the 
Airline  in  the  project  of  a  townsite.  Again,  no  matter 
what  his  individual  preference,  he  must  think  of  others. 
In  reality,  his  own  individual  interest  in  the  ranch 
amounted  to  but  one-third.  Sooner  or  later  there  must 
be  a  division — an  adjustment  of  shares  between  Jean, 
Turkey  and  himself.  In  justice  to  them  he  could  not 
refuse  an  offer  which  promised  more  than  he  could  ever 
hope  to  make  or  receive  for  the  ranch  as  a  ranch. 

And  so  the  ranch,  as  a  ranch,  was  done.  Its  broad 
fields  and  pastures  and  broad  stretches  of  timbered  levels 
would  be  broken  up,  surveyed  into  building  lots,  pegged 
out  with  stakes,  gridironed  with  embryonic  streets.  For 
a  while  it  would  lie  raw,  unsightly,  ruined  as  a  ranch, 
unmade  as  a  town.  And  then  people  would  come  in. 
Shacks  would  spring  up,  stores  with  false  fronts,  all 
sorts  of  makeshifts  which  accompany  construction  days. 
Later  would  come  permanence,  better  buildings, 
churches,  schools,  gardens,  sidewalks.  Where  the  Ranch 
had  been  would  stand  the  Town.  It  was  Progress,  the 
history  of  the  West  since  the  first  steel  road  adventured 

299 


300        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

among  the  ancient  buffalo  trails.  The  old  order  was 
changing,  but  he,  though  young,  was  more  of  the  old 
order  than  the  new,  because  he  had  been  bred  in  the 
former. 

Faith  touched  his  arm  lightly. 

"Tell  me  I'm  awake.     It  seems  like  a  dream." 

He  put  his  arm  around  her  and  she  snuggled  in  the 
crook  of  it,  leaning  comfortably  against  his  shoulder. 
He  pulled  the  team  to  a  walk. 

"Now  say  it  yourself." 

"Say  what?  How  did  you  know  I  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing? But  it's  nothing  particular.  It's  just — every- 
thing!" 

"It's  sure  a  surprise  to  me.  Why,  only  yesterday  I 
hinted  to  Chetwood  that  it  was  doubtful  if  he  could 
support  a  wife — and  to-day  he  bids  in  my  whole  ranch." 
He  laughed,  but  with  little  mirth,  for  the  sense  of  obliga- 
tion lay  heavy  on  him. 

"I  wonder  if  Jean  knew?" 

"I  don't  think  so.  Why,  she  wanted  him  to  home- 
stead— said  he'd  have  to  make  good  before  she'd  marry 
him." 

"Jean  is  so  practical!"  sighed  his  wife.  "Now  I'd 
never  have  said  anything  like  that  to  you.  I'm  glad  that 
Braden  didn't  get  the  ranch.  Odious  beast!"  Angus 
chuckled.  "Well,  he  is!" 

"Easily!  I  never  happened  to  think  of  that  particular 
descriptive  phrase,  though." 

"I  don't  want  to  hear  your  descriptive  phrases. 
He's  a  horrible  man.  I  shudder  when  he  looks  at  me. 
He — he  seems  to  be  thinking  evil  things  about  me — 
plotting — Oh,  I  don't  know.  Did  you  see  his  face  when 
he  saw  that  he  would  be  overbidden?  It  turned  white, 
and  then  green.  Oh,  you  may  laugh !  #«>  it." 


CHETWOOD  UNMASKED  301 

"It  was  a  jolt  for  him.  He  had  it  working  like  an 
oiled  lock  up  to  then.  Some  day  I  will  play  even  with 
him." 

"He  didn't  accomplish  his  end.  He's  beneath  your 
notice." 

"No  man  who  tried  to  hand  me  what  he  did  is  be- 
neath my  notice,"  he  said  grimly.  "Yes,  I'll  settle 
with  him  some  day." 

"I  thought  I  might  see  your  brother  at  the  sale." 

"No,  he  wouldn't  go  near  it.  I'll  be  glad  when  I  can 
hand  him  over  his  share  to  do  what  he  likes  with." 

"It's  odd  that  I've  never  seen  him.  Why  don't  you 
make  it  up  with  him,  Angus?" 

Angus'  mouth  tightened  grimly.  "Make  it  up !  Now, 
I'll  tell  you  something,  Faith,  which  you  must  never 
repeat,  even  to  Jean:  I  believe  he  is  in  cahoots  with 
Braden." 

"Oh,  surely  not!"  she  cried,  and  when  he  told  her 
the  grounds  of  his  belief  she  was  unconvinced.  "There's 
some  mistake,  Angus." 

"It's  not  on  my  part.  I'm  through  with  him — ex- 
cept to  give  him  his  share.  He  shall  have  that,  to  the 
last  cent.  He  shall  not  say  I  did  not  play  fair  with 
him." 

"You  would  play  fair  with  every  one,"  she  told  him. 
"I  know  that." 

His  arm  tightened  for  an  instant  by  way  of  acknowl- 
edgment. But  he  found  her  words  only  just.  To  the 
best  of  his  ability  he  had  tried  to  play  fair  all  his  life. 
On  that  score  he  could  not  reproach  himself  at  all. 

They  drove  up  to  the  ranch,  and  at  the  sound  of 
wheels  Jean  ran  out.  She  had  been  waiting,  regretting 
that  she  had  not  accompanied  them,  anxious  to  know 
the  worst  and  have  it  over. 


302        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Well,  dear!"  said  Faith  tantalizingly. 

"You  know  what.  Who  bought  the  ranch?  Was  it 
Braden?" 

"No,"  Faith  replied,  "it  was  a  young  man  named 
Chetwood." 

"Wha-a-t!n  cried  Jean  in  tones  which  left  no  doubt 
of  her  utter  amazement.  "Oh,  stop  joking!  This  is 
serious." 

"He  bought  it,"  Angus  assured  her. 

"But — but  he  couldn't!"  Jean  exclaimed  incredu- 
lously. "Angus,  you  know  he  couldn't.  Why  he's 
broke!  He's  working  for  you  for  wages." 

"Just  what  the  old  sheriff  said,"  Angus  laughed. 
"But  it's  straight,  Jean.  He  bid  the  ranch  in  for  twenty- 
four  thousand." 

"But  where  did  he  get  the  money?" 

"I  don't  know.     But  he  had  it." 

"Then,"  Jean  flashed,  "I'll  never  speak  to  him  again 
— never!  To  buy  the  ranch,  your  ranch,  our  ranch — at 
a  sale !  Oh,  the  miserable,  contemptible — " 

"Hi,  hold  on!"  Angus  interrupted.  "You  don't 
understand.  He  didn't  buy  it  for  himself;  he  bought  it 
in  for  us — to  save  it.  He's  a  white  man,  all  right, 
Jean." 

"I  don't  care  what  he  bought  the  ranch  for!"  Jean 
cried.  "And  he's  not  a  white  man.  He's  a  sneak.  He 
deceived  me.  He  said  his  remittance  had  stopped.  He 
let  me  make  a  fool  of  myself  advising  him  to  homestead 
and  get  a  place  of  his  own,  and  work  hard,  so  that — 
so  that — " 

"So  that  you  could  be  married!"  Angus  chuckled. 

"Ye — yes,"  Jean  confessed,  and  her  brother  roared. 
"Oh,  you  think  it  funny,  do  you?  Well,  he  won't.  I 
never  want  to  see  him.  I  won't  see  him." 


CHETWOOD  UNMASKED  303 

"But,  Jean  dear,  listen,"  Faith  put  in,  for  she  saw 
that  to  Jean  there  was  nothing  humorous  in  the  sit- 
uation. The  girl  was  deeply  offended,  bitterly  angry. 

"I  don't  want  to  listen,"  Jean  snapped.  "I  don't 
want  to  be  rude,  Faith,  but  he — he  lied  to  me.  He 
led  me  to  believe  that  he  was  poor,  that  he  hadn't  a 
dollar.  He  was  playing  with  me,  amusing  himself, 
laughing  at  me  when  I  was — oh,  I  can't  talk  about  it!" 

"Oh,  shucks,  old  girl!"  said  Angus.  "You're  going 
into  the  air  about  nothing.  You  ought  to  be  glad  he 
isn't  broke." 

"Ought  I?"  Jean  retorted.  "Well,  I'm  not.  He 
wasn't  straight  with  me,  he  wasn't  fair.  He  talked 
about  a  little  cottage,  and  wanted  me  to  marry  him 
right  away,  and — and — " 

"And  share  his  poverty,"  Angus  grinned.  "Weren't 
you  game,  sis?" 

"Angus!"  Faith  warned.     But  Jean's  cheeks  flamed. 

"No,  I  wasn't,"  she  replied  bitterly.  "I  told  him 
he  would  have  to  make  good  first,  if  you  want  to  know, 
not  because  I  didn't  love  him,  poor  as  I  thought  he 
was,  but  because  I  thought  it  would  make  him  work 
in  earnest.  Can  you  understand  that,  Angus  Mackay? 
Do  you  think,  after  telling  him  that,  I'd  marry  him  now 
that  he  has  money?  I'd  rather  die!  And — and  I  half 
believe  I  want  to." 

With  which  tragic  ultimatum  Miss  Jean  turned  and 
fled.  Angus  gaped  after  her  and  at  his  wife. 

"Well,  of  all  darn  fool  girls — "  he  exclaimed. 

"You  don't  understand.     You  made  it  worse." 

"Why,  what  did  I—' 

"Never  mind  now.  I'll  talk  to  her  after  a  while,  but 
in  her  place  I'd  feel  much  the  same.  I  only  hope  she 
will  get  over  it." 


304        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Of  course  she  will.  Rot!  She  fooled  herself  about 
Chetwood,  same  as  I  did.  Go  and  make  her  behave 
sensibly." 

"You  don't  know  a  blessed  thing  about  girls,"  his 
wife  told  him. 

"Well,  I'll  bet  if  you  let  the  two  of  them  get  to- 
gether they'll  make  it  up.  She'll « go  for  him  red- 
headed for  five  minutes,  then  it'll  be  over." 

But  Faith  vetoed  this  simple  plan.  She  saw  that 
Jean's  pride  had  been  deeply  hurt.  When  Chetwood 
appeared,  later,  he  met  the  surprise  of  his  young  life. 
He  did  not  see  Jean.  Faith  took  the  matter  into  her 
own  hands. 

"But — but,  hang  it,"  he  exclaimed  when  the  situation 
was  made  clear  to  him,  "it's  all  a  beastly,  rotten  mis- 
understanding. I  mean  to  say  it's  all  wrong.  Jean — 
why,  bless  the  girl,  I  never  dreamed  of  offending  her." 

"But  you've  done  it.  Do  you  mind  answering  one 
or  two  questions?" 

"I'll  tell  you  anything,"  Chetwood  replied  with  fervor. 

"Well — they  may  be  impertinent.  Have  you  much 
money?  And  is  it  yours,  or — remittances?" 

'  'Much  money'  is  rather  a  relative  term.  But  I 
have  enough  to  live  on,  and  it  is  mine." 

"Then  what  on  earth  made  you  work  as  a  ranch 
hand?" 

"Jean  did.  She  had  a  strong  prejudice  against  remit- 
tance men,  and  she  classed  me  as  one  of  them.  I  was 
an  idler,  and  she  rather  despised  me.  Of  course  she 
didn't  tell  me  so,  but  I  could  see  how  the  land  lay.  So 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  remove  that  objection,  anyway. 
The  best  place  to  do  it  seemed  to  be  where  she  could 
see  me  working,  and  I  really  wanted  to  know  something 
about  ranching.  Struck  me  as  a  good  joke,  being  paid 


CHETWOOD  UNMASKED  305 

for  what  I  was  perfectly  willing  to  pay  for  myself. 
Then  I  thought  I  might  as  well  live  up  to  the  part  and 
really  throw  myself  on  my  own  resources,  which  I  did. 
I've  been  living  on  my  wages.  But  of  course  I  had  to 
have  some  adequate  explanation.  I  couldn't  tell  Angus 
I  wanted  to  live  on  the  ranch  to  make  love  to  his  sister. 
Now,  could  I  ?  So  I  merely  let  it  be  understood  that  my 
remittances  had  stopped.  May  not  have  been  exactly 
cricket,  but  I  can't  see  that  I'm  very  much  to  blame. 
If  I  could  see  Jean — " 

"Not  now.  She  refused  to  marry  you  till  you  were  in 
a  position  to  support  a  wife.  That's  the  bitter  part 
of  it." 

"But  I  am  able  to  support  one." 

"Yes,  but  don't  you  see  having  refused  to  marry  you 
until  you  had  made  a  little  money  she  won't  put  herself 
in  the  position  of  doing  so  now  for  fear  you  or  some- 
body might  think  the  money  had  something  to  do 
with  it." 

Chetwood  took  his  bewildered  head  in  his  hands. 

"O,  my  sainted  Aunt  Jemima!"  he  murmured.  "In 
the  picturesque  language  of  the  country  this  sure  beats 
— er — I  mean  it's  a  bit  too  thick  for  me.  She  didn't 
approve  of  me  because  I  was  an  idler  and  presumably  a 
remittance  man.  Very  well.  I  cut  off  my  income  and 
became  a  hired  man.  Then  she  wouldn't  marry  me 
because  I  was.  Now  she  won't  see  me  or  speak  to  me 
because  I'm  not.  Kind  lady,  having  been  a  girl  your- 
self, will  you  please  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do  about  it?" 

Faith  laughed  at  his  woebegone  countenance.  "The 
whole  trouble  is  that  you  weren't  frank  with  her.  What 
was  play  to  you — a  good  joke — was  the  most  serious 
think  in  life  to  her.  While  she  was  considering  and 
planning  in  earnest  for  the  future  you  were  laughing  at 


306        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

her.  Perhaps  a  man  can't  appreciate  it;  but  a  woman 
finds  such  things  hard  to  forgive." 

"I'll  apologize,"  Chetwood  said.  "I'll  eat  crow. 
Mrs.  Angus,  like  an  angel,  do  help  me  with  the  future 
Lady  Chet — er — I  mean — " 

"What!"   Faith  cried. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  Chetwood  ejaculated,  "there  go  the 
beans.  Nothing,  nothing!  I  don't  know  what  I'm 
saying,  really!" 

"Don't  you  dare  to  deceive  me !"  Faith  admonished 
sternly.  "Lady  Chetwood!  What  do  you  mean?" 

"But  it's  not  my  fault,"  the  luckless  young  man  pro- 
tested. "I  can't  help  it.  It's  hereditary.  When  the 
old  boy  died — " 

"What  old  boy?" 

"My  uncle,  Sir  Eustace.  I  was  named  after  him. 
And  I  couldn't  help  that." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  Faith  accused  him  severe- 
ly, "that  on  top  of  all  your  deceptions  you  have  a  title? 
Oh,  Jean  will  never  forgive  this!" 

"But  it's  not  much  of  a  title,"  its  owner  palliated. 
"It's  just  a  little  old  one.  Nothing  gaudy  about  it,  like 
these  new  brewers'.  It's  considered  quite  respectable, 
really,  at  home,  and  nobody  objects.  It — it  runs  in 
the  family,  like  red  hair  or — er — insanity." 

"Insanity!"  Faith  gasped.  "Good  heavens,  is  there 
that?  Oh,  poor  Jean !  That  explains — " 

"No,  no!"  Chetwood  protested  desperately.  "I 
didn't  mean  that.  Quite  the  contrary.  Not  a  trace. 
Why,  dash  it  all,  there  isn't  even  genius!" 

Whereat,  with  a  wild  shriek,  Faith  collapsed  weakly 
in  her  chair  and  laughed  until  she  wept.  "Oh,  oh,  oh !" 
she  gasped  feebly,  wiping  her  eyes,  "this  is  lovely — I 
mean  it's  awful.  Mr.  Chetwood — I  mean  Sir  Eustace — " 


CHETWOOD  UNMASKED  307 

"  'Bill!'  "  the  object  of  her  mirth  amended.  "Poor 
Bill.  Poor  old  Bill!  Dear,  kind,  pretty  lady,  have 
a  heart!" 

"A  heart!  If  it  gets  any  more  shocks  like  this —  But 
what  am  I  to  tell  Jean  ?  Here's  a  poor  country  girl  and 
a  noble  knight — " 

"Don't  rub  it  in.  You  see  Sir  Eustace  was  alive  when 
I  came  ^ver  here.  When  I  heard  of  his  death  I  said 
nothing  to  anybody,  because  there  are  a  lot  of  silly 
asses  who  seem  to  think  a  title  makes  some  difference 
in  a  man.  And  then  I  was  afraid  some  beastly  news- 
paper would  print  some  rot  about  my  working  as  a 
ranch  hand." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done  about  it," 
Faith  admitted;  "but  I  do  know  that  now  isn't  the  time 
for  you  to  see  Jean.  Really,  I  think  the  best  think  you 
can  do  is  to  go  away  for  a  week  or  two." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ANOTHER  SURPRISE 

OUTWARDLY,  life  on  the  Mackay  ranch  settled 
back  to  its  old  groove.   Work  went  on  as  usual. 
Angus  entered  into  an  agreement  with  McGinity 
which  relieved  him  from  present  money  worries.    But 
the  actual  railway  construction  would  take  time,  and 
meanwhile,  next  season,  he  could  take  off  another  crop. 

Already  the  summer  was  done,  the  days  shortening, 
the  evenings  growing  cool.  Birds  were  full-grown  and 
strong  of  wing.  Fogs  hung  in  the  mornings,  to  be  dis- 
pelled by  the  sun  slanting  a  little  to  southward.  The 
days  were  clear,  warm,  windless.  In  the  lake,  trees  and 
mountain  ranges  were  reflected  with  the  accuracy  of  a 
mirror.  On  these  shadows,  as  perfect  upside  down  as 
right  side  up,  Faith  expanded  photographic  film  pro- 
digally. 

Chetwood  had  returned  to  the  ranch,  but  Jean  had 
refused  to  restore  the  status  quo.  She  treated  him  with 
formal  politeness,  avoiding  him  skilfully,  taking  care 
that  he  should  not  see  her  alone.  Mrs.  Foley,  now  in 
complete  charge  of  the  ranch  kitchen,  commented 
thereon. 

"What's  th'  racket  bechune  yez  ?"  she  asked  bluntly. 
"Ye  act  like  ye  was  feared  to  be  wid  th'  lad  alone.  An' 
a  while  ago  I  felt  it  me  duty  as  a  fellow-woman  to  cough, 
or  dhrop  a  broom — " 

"Nonsense!"    Jean  interrupted  tartly. 

"Well,  a  dacint  lad  he  is — f'r  a  sassenach — fair- 
spoken,  wid  a  smile,  an'  a  pleasant  word  f'r  th'  likes 
iv  me,  an'  always  a  josh  on  th'  tip  iv  his  tongue." 

308 


ANOTHER  SURPRISE"  309 

Jean  sniffed. 

"Havin'  buried  four  min,  I  know  their  ways,"  Mrs. 
Foley  continued.  "Whin  a  man's  eyes  rest  on  a  woman 
wishful,  like  a  hungry  dog's  on  a  green  bone,  that's 
thrue  love." 

"I'm  not  4  bone!"   Jean  snapped. 

"I  am  no£  jnakin'  no  cracks  at  th'  build  iv  yez,"  Mrs. 
Foley  assured  her.  "A  foine,  well-growed  shlip  iv  a 
gyurl  ye  are;  an'  a  swate  arrumful — " 

"Mrs.  Foley!"  Jean  cried,  cheeks  afire. 

"Well,  glory  be,  an'  what  else  is  a  gyurPs  waist  an' 
a  man's  arrum  for?"  Mrs.  Foley  demanded  practically. 
"Sure,  I  am  no  quince-mouthed  owld  maid,  talkin'  wide 
iv  phwat  ivery  woman — maid,  wife,  an'  widdy — knows. 
I  misdoubt,  f'r  all  yer  high  head,  ye're  in  love  wid  th' 
lad.  Then  why  don't  ye  let  love  take  its  coorse?" 

"I'm  not  in  love  with  him,"  Jean  declared.  "I  don't 
want  to  see  him.  I  wish  he'd  go  away." 

"An'  if  he  did  ye'd  be  afther  cryin'  thim  purty  brown 
eyes  out." 

"I  would  not!"  Jean  asseverated.  "He's  nothing 
to  me — less  than  nothing." 

"Well,  well,  God  knows  our  hearts,"  Mrs.  Foley 
commented  piously.  "Foour  min  I've  buried,  an'  I 
know  their  ways." 

"You  might  have  another  husband  if  you  liked," 
Jean  told  her  by  way  of  counter-attack. 
*  "Ye  mane  th'  big  Swede,"  Mrs.  Foley  responded 
calmly,  "Mavbe  I  r^uld.  But  I've  had  no  luck  keepin' 
[min,  an'  he  might  not  last  either,  though  him  bein'  phwat 
lie  is  it  might  not  matther.  Still  an'  all,  buryin'  hus- 
bands is  onsettlin'  to  a  woman." 

"But  Gus  is  so  healthy!"  Jean  giggled. 

"So  was  me  poor  b'ys   that's  gone,"   Mrs.   Foley 


3io       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

sighed.  "They  was  that  healthy  it  hurt  'em.  Health 
makes  f 'r  divilmint,  an'  divilmint  shortens  a  man's  days. 
I'm  tellin'  ye,  ut's  th'  scrawny  little  divils  that  ain't 
healthy  enough  to  enj'y  life  that  nawthin'  shakes  loose 
from  ut.  But  rip-roarin',  full-blooded  b'ys,  like  thim 
I  had,  they  leaves  a  woman  lorn." 

"Were  your  husbands  all  Irish?"  Jean  asked. 

"They  wor,"  Mrs.  Foley  replied,  "if  Galway,  Wick- 
low,  Clare  an'  Down  breed  Irishmin,  God  rest  thim!" 

"Well,  Gus  is  a  good  worker.  He's  been  with  us 
for  years." 

"But  ye  could  fire  him  when  ye  liked,"  Mrs.  Foley 
pointed  out.  "A  husband  an'  a  hired  man  is  cats  of 
diff'rent  stripes.  But  they  tell  me  this  lad  of  yours  has 
money.  Then  why  is  he  workin'  as  a  hired  man  onless 
f'r  love  of  ye,  tell  me  that?" 

"I  can't  help  his  feelings,"  Jean  returned. 

"No,  but  ye  might  soothe  thim,  instid  iv  playin'  cat- 
an'-mouse — " 

"I'm  not!"  Jean  cried.  "And  I  wish  you  wouldn't 
talk  about  him  any  more." 

The  net  result  was  that,  feeling  herself  under  Mrs. 
Foley's  skeptical  eye,  she  treated  the  unfortunate  Chet- 
wood  more  distantly  than  ever.  Faith  observed,  but 
said  nothing,  waiting  for  an  opportune  moment  which 
was  slow  in  coming. 

Since  her  wedding  Faith's  ranch  had  been  abandoned. 
She  had  removed  some  of  her  personal  belongings,  but 
the  furniture  remained.  She  was  aware,  now,  of  the 
worthlessness  of  the  place.  The  reasons  which  had  im- 
pelled Godfrey  French  to  purchase,  whatever  they  were, 
were  not  operative  with  his  children.  If  Braden  had 
been  behind  that  offer  it  was  improbable  that  it  would 
be  renewed  by  him.  The  place  was  dead  horse. 


ANOTHER  SURPRISE  311 

Nevertheless,  Faith  held  a  fondness  for  it,  principally 
sentimental.  Occasionally  she  rode  over  to  see  that 
all  was  in  order.  She  had  an  idea  that,  if  the  Mackay 
ranch  was  cut  up,  they  might  live  there,  and  she  Had 
a  wish,  of  which  she  had  not  yet  spoken  to  her  husband, 
to  spend  a  week  or  two  there  alone  with  him  before  the 
winter.  And  so  one  day  she  paid  a  visit  to  her 
property. 

Though  the  day  was  warm  the  interior  struck  chill. 
She  threw  the  doors  open  and  raised  the  Blinds,  letting 
in  the  air  and  sun.  Then,  taking  a  book,  she  moved 
a  rocker  to  the  front  veranda,  and  basked  in  the  sun. 
For  a  time  she  admired  the  mountains  sharply  defined, 
gulch,  shoulder  and  summit,  in  the  clear  air,  but  speedily 
she  became  lost  in  her  own  thoughts. 

A  sudden,  thudding  detonation  broke  her  reverie  and 
brought  her  upright  in  her  chair.  It  rumbled  into  the 
hills,  caught  by  the  rocks,  flung  across  gorges  and  back 
in  a  maze  of  echoes,  diminishing  and  dying  in  the  far 
ranges.  For  a  startled  instant  she  wondered  what  it 
could  be,  and  then  she  knew  that  it  was  powder — a  blast. 

The  shot  seemed  near,  not  more  than  a  mile  distant. 
It  was  either  on  her  land  or  very  near  it,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  foot  of  the  round  mountain  which  projected  from 
the  foot  of  the  range.  While  she  puzzled,  another  shot 
came.  Yes,  undoubtedly  that  was  where  it  was.  But 
who  could  be  using  powder  on  her  property? 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  find  out  what  was  going  on. 
She  locked  the  doors,  and  mounting  her  pony  took  as 
straight  a  line  as  she  could  in  the  direction  of  the  blasts. 

There  were  no  more  shots,  but  she  rode  on,  and 
presently  came  to  what  seemed  to  be  a  new  trail  leading 
upward  beside  the  shoulder  of  the  round  hill  aforesaid. 
Her  pony  scrambled  up  the  rough  going,  walled  on 


312        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

either  side  by  brush.  Then  she  emerged  upon  a  bench 
a  few  acres  in  extent,  above  which  the  hill  rose  steeply. 
There  stood  a  couple  of  tents.  The  brush  had  been 
cut  away,  and  earth  and  stones  stripped  from  the  moun- 
tain side,  leaving  a  new,  raw  wound.  Fragments  of 
gray  country  rock,  split  and  driven  by  the  force  which 
had  ripped  them  loose,  lay  around.  By  the  face  thus 
exposed  half  a  dozen  men  were  at  work.  Closer  at  hand 
two  men  conversed.  As  she  pulled  up  her  pony  they 
saw  her. 

For  a  moment  they  stared  at  her.    She  rode  forward. 

"I — I  hope  I'm  not  in  the  way,"  she  began,  feeling 
the  words  inadequate.  "I  was  down  at  the  ranch  and 
heard  the  blasts.  I  am  Miss — I  mean  I  am  Mrs. 
Mackay."  She  was  not  yet  accustomed  to  the  latter  des- 
ignation. 

"My  name  is  Garland,"  said  the  younger  of  the  two. 
"This  is  Mr.  Poole." 

Mr.  Poole  murmured  unintelligibly.  Then  both 
waited.  A  hammer  man  began  to  strike.  The  measured 
clang  punctuated  the  stillness. 

"I  thought  I  would  ride  up  and  see  what  was  going 
on,"  Faith  explained. 

"We're  doing  a  little  development  work." 

"Oh,"  Faith  said,  and  hesitated  for  an  instant.  "But 
— but  this  is  my  land." 

"Your  land!"  Garland  and  Poole  were  plainly  sur- 
prised. They  exchanged  glances.  In  them  was  quick 
suspicion,  unspoken  question,  speculation. 

"Where  would  your  line  run  ?"  Garland  asked. 

But  Faith  could  not  tell  him.  Godfrey  French  had 
indicated  in  general  terms  where  her  boundaries  lay, 
but  she  had  never  followed  them.  She  could  only  repeat 
her  conviction.  Again  the  men  exchanged  glances. 


ANOTHER  SURPRISE  313 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  see  Braden  about  that," 
Garland  told  her.  "This  is  his  property — or  he  thinks 
it  is.  We're  working  for  him." 

"But  what  are  you  working  at?  What  are  you 
doing?" 

"We're  opening  up  a  prospect — what's  going  to  be 
a  mine." 

"A  mine!   What  kind  of  a  mine?" 

"A  coal  mine,"  Garland  replied,  "and  a  good  one, 
too.  I  guess  this  little  mountain  is  mostly  coal.  We're 
just  clearing  off  the  face,  but  you  can  see  the  seam  if 
you  like." 

Coal !  Faith  stared  at  the  wound  in  the  hillside.  She 
could  see  a  dark  belt,  the  "seam"  of  which  Garland 
had  spoken,  partially  exposed.  There,  overlain  by  soil 
and  worthless  rock,  screened  by  tree  and  brush,  was  the 
stored  fertility  of  some  bygone  age,  the  compression  of 
the  growth  of  a  young  world,  potential  heat,  light, 
power. 

"This  isn't  much  more  than  outcrop,"  Garland  was 
saying,  "but  it's  good  coal.  Braden  will  make  a  clean- 
up on  this  when  the  railway  comes  through — that  is  if  it 
is  his."  His  eyes  met  Poole's,  and  again  there  was  the 
unspoken  query,  the  speculation. 

"But  I'm  sure  it  isn't,"  said  Faith.  "That  is,  I'm 
almost  sure." 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  be  sure  about,"  Garland 
told  her. 

"I  think  my  husband  will  be  able  to  tell  you,"  said 
Faith. 

"No  use  telling  us,"  Garland  replied.  "Braden's  the 
man  for  him  to  see.  And — well,  our  instructions  are 
not  to  allow  anybody  on  the  ground." 

"No  trespassing,"  Poole  corroborated. 


314        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"But  if  this  is  my  property — " 

"That's  the  point — if  it  is." 

"I  think  it  is.  And  until  I  know  it  isn't  I  have  a 
right  to  come  here,  and  so  has  my  husband." 

Garland  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I'm  only  telling 
you  our  instructions.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  Braden 
wouldn't  want  your  husband  coming  here.  They're  not 
friends,  I  guess.  You'd  better  tell  him  to  keep  away." 

"My  husband  will  go  where  he  likes  without  asking 
Mr.  Braden's  permission." 

"We're  working  for  Braden,"  said  Garland,"  and 
what  he  says  goes.  We  don't  want  any  trouble  with  any- 
body, but  we're  going  to  carry  out  our  instructions." 

"I'll  tell  my  husband,"  Faith  returned.    "Good-bye." 

Garland  and  Poole  watched  her  out  of  sight  and 
stared  at  each  other. 

"Now  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  the  former  asked. 

"Darned  if  I  know.  She  seemed  sure.  But  Braden 
ought  to  know  what  he's  about." 

"He  ought  to,"  Garland  admitted.  "He  sold  her 
father  whatever  land  she  has.  He  owns  a  whole  bunch 
of  it  around  here."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "I 
wonder  if  he's  putting  something  over;  I  wonder  if  she 
does  own  this,  and  Braden  has  framed  something  on 
her?" 

"Her  deed  would  show  what  she  owns." 

"That's  so.  But  if  Braden  is  putting  something  over 
and  we  can  get  onto  it,  we  could  make  him  come  through. 
This  thing  is  going  to  be  worth  having  a  share  in." 

"How  are  we  going  to  get  onto  it?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Garland  admitted,  "but  you  never  can 
tell  what  will  turn  up." 

"Suppose  young  Mackay  comes  horning  in  here.  He'd 
come  on  the  prod." 


ANOTHER  SURPRISE  315 

"This  bunch  can  handle  him,"  Garland  said  with  con- 
fidence. "That  big  Swede  that's  using  the  hammer  is  a 
bad  actor,  I'll  give  him  a  pointer  about  Mackay." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A   NEW   COMPLICATION 

FAITH  rode  homeward  at  an  unwonted  space.  She 
had  always  regarded  that  mountain,  supposed  to  be 
worthless,  as  part  of  her  property.  Godfrey  French, 
she  now  remembered  more  clearly,  had  once  indicated 
it  as  within  her  boundaries.  Now  that  it  was  valuable, 
it  appeared  that  Braden  claimed  it.  It  might  be  true, 
but  it  was  strange. 

Her  husband  met  her  as  she  clattered  up  to  the  cor- 
rals. It  was  his  habit  to  lift  her  from  the  saddle.  For 
a  moment  he  held  her  above  his  head  as  if  she  had  been 
a  child,  kissed  her  and  set  her  on  her  feet  gently.  His 
eyes  went  to  the  pony's  sweating  coat. 

"Just  finding  out  that  old  Doughnuts  can  travel  when 
he  has  to?"  The  pony  owed  his  name  to  that  far-off 
episode  of  their  first  meeting. 

"I  was  in  a  hurry.     Did  I  ride  him  too  hard?" 

"No,  did  him  good."  He  loosened  the  cinches, 
stripped  off  saddle  and  bridle  and  dismissed  Dough- 
nuts with  a  friendly  slap  for  a  luxurious  roll.  "What 
was  the  hurry,  old  girl?  Has  somebody  been  breaking 
into  Dry  Lodge?" 

"No,  no ;  all  right  there.  But  Angus,  such  a  strange 
thing  has  happened.  They've  found  coal  in  that  round 
mountain!" 

"Coal!"  he  exclaimed. 

Swiftly,  words  tumbling  over  one  another  so  that 
much  had  to  be  repeated,  she  related  her  experiences. 
As  she  spoke,  mentioning  the  names  of  Garland,  of 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION  317 

Poole,  and  finally  of  Braden,  she  saw  his  face  cloud  and 
darken.  The  frank,  genial  lights  of  love  and  laughter 
left  his  eyes;  they  became  hard,  brooding,  watchful. 

"Well,"  she  asked,  "what  do  you  think?  Isn't  that 
my  property — our  property?" 

"I  supposed  so  from  what  you  told  me,  but  I  never 
knew  where  your  lines  ran.  How  did  you  know  your 
boundaries?" 

"I  didn't  really  know  them,  I'm  afraid.  Uncle  God- 
frey just  generally  indicated  where  they  were,  from  the 
house.  But  I  know  he  said  that  hill  was  inside  them." 

"Your  deeds  would  show;  but  Judge  Riley  has  sent 
them  away  to  be  registered.  I  don't  remember  the 
description  in  them." 

"But  couldn't  we  find  the  corner-posts  if  the  land  was 
surveyed?" 

"Perhaps  it  wasn't  surveyed.  Surveys  are  usually  up 
to  the  purchaser.  Your  land  is  part  of  a  larger  block 
owned  by  Braden.  I  think  he  owns  land  on  both  sides 
of  it.  He  got  it  for  about  fifty  cents  an  acre,  and  he  got 
the  Tetreau  place  for  next  to  nothing.  The  description 
in  the  deed  would  give  a  starting  point,  then  so  many 
chains  that  way  and  so  many  another,  and  it  would  work 
out  to  the  acreage,  but  no  actual  survey  may  have  been 
made." 

In  fact  the  only  means  of  determining  the  actual 
boundaries  were  the  deeds  themselves,  which  were  tem- 
porarily inaccessible. 

"I'll  go  over  the  ground  to-morrow  anyway,"  Angus 
said,  "and  look  for  a  line.  And  I'll  see  what  these 
fellows  are  doing." 

"Oh,  I  forgot!  This  Garland  told  me  nobody  was 
to  be  allowed  on  the  ground.  Those  were  his  instruc- 
tions." 


318         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"They  were,  were  they.  It's  easy  to  give  instructions. 
I  believe  Garland  and  Poole  had  something  to  do  with 
my  ditch.  They're  just  the  sort  Braden  could  hire  to  do 
a  thing  like  that.  And  now  they're  in  charge  of  this 
coal  prospect!  There's  something  queer  about  it.  I 
wonder  if  that  was  why  your  uncle  was  trying  to  buy 
you  out?" 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  startled,  "surely  you  don't 
think  he  knew  of  this  coal!  Oh,  he  couldn't!" 

"It  looks  to  me  like  a  reasonable  explanation." 

"But  if  it  is  my  land,  how  can  Mr.  Braden  say  it's 
his?" 

"I  don't  know,"  Angus  replied,  "but  I  do  know  that 
Braden  will  do  anything  he  thinks  he  can  get  away  with." 

Early  the  following  morning  Angus  and  Rennie  rode 
away.  The  latter,  to  Angus'  surprise,  was  wearing  a 
gun. 

"What  do  you  want  that  for?"  Angus  asked. 

"I  don't  know,"  Rennie  replied,  "but  I  know  if  I  need 
her  she's  going  to  be  there.  This  claim-jumpin'  is  as 
risky  as  foolin'  with  another  man's  wife.  You  never 
can  tell." 

"But  we're  not  going  to  jump  them." 

"All  right.  But  maybe  they'll  take  a  notion  to  jump 
us.  I  don't  aim  to  be  crowded  by  no  dam'  rock-gang 
like  Braden  'd  hire  for  a  job  he  thought  there  might 
be  trouble  about." 

They  found  the  boundaries  of  the  old  Tetreau  hold- 
ing without  difficulty,  and  with  these  for  a  base  began 
to  prospect  for  others.  After  a  long  search  they  found 
what  appeared  to  be  an  old  line  which  had  been  cut 
through  brush,  but  new  growth  had  almost  choked  it. 

"She  was  run  a  long  time  ago,"  Rennie  decided. 
"Longer  'n  when  your  wife's  pa  bought  all  this  scenery. 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION  3 19 

It  looks  to  me  like  she  might  be  the  line  of  the  block 
Braden  owns." 

"We  can  take  a  sight  and  see  where  the  line  hits  the 
mountain,"  Angus  suggested. 

They  took  a  rough  sight,  with  stakes  set  as  nearly  as 
possible  in  the  center  of  the  old  line,  and  they  found 
that  the  line,  produced,  would  strike  to  the  northwest 
of  the  round  mountain.  Therefore  if  this  line  was  the 
northwestern  boundary  of  Faith's  land,  it  would  include 
the  coal  deposit  claimed  by  Braden. 

"Braden  skins  his  hand  mighty  close  before  he  puts 
down  a  bet,"  said  Rennie.  "If  he's  openin'  up  a  pros- 
pect, he's  likely  organized  to  back  her.  My  tumtum 
is  to  wait  till  you  get  them  deeds  back  and  then  have  a 
survey  made,  or,  anyway,  see  Riley." 

"We  can  go  and  have  a  look  at  what  they're  doing, 
and  hear  what  they  have  to  say.  I  like  Braden's  nerve, 
giving  orders  to  keep  people  off.  What  the  devil  does 
he  think  this  country  is?  If  there  wasn't  something 
crooked  about  the  thing  he  wouldn't  mind  who  took  a 
look  at  it.  I'm  going  to  have  a  look,  anyway." 

They  rode  toward  the  mountain,  eventually  striking 
into  the  trail  which  Faith  had  followed  on  the  preced- 
ing day.  As  they  approached  they  could  hear  the  sounds 
of  work  in  progress,  and  suddenly  they  came  upon  a  man 
planting  posts.  A  roll  of  wire  lay  on  the  ground.  The 
man  stepped  into  the  trail. 

"Hold  on,"  he  said.     "You  can't  go  any  further." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Rennie.  "The  trail  looks  like  it 
went  some  farther." 

"Well,  you  don't,"  the  other  retorted.  "Them's 
orders." 

"Whose  orders?"  Angus  asked,  crowding  forward 

"The  boss'— Braden." 


320        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Braden  be  damned!"  said  Angus.  "Get  out  of  the 
way.  Give  me  the  trail,  you,  or  I'll  ride  plum'  over 
you  1"  As  he  spoke  he  touched  his  horse  with  the  heel, 
and  the  guardian  of  the  trail  gave  ground,  cursing,  but 
followed  them  as  they  rode  out  on  the  bench  and  into 
the  presence  of  a  group  of  three — Braden,  Garland  and 
Poole. 

Angus  halted,  and  without  paying  the  least  attention 
to  them,  took  in  his  surroundings.  Then  he  shifted  his 
gaze  to  the  trio,  eying  them  in  a  silence  which  was 
broken  by  Mr.  Braden. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  he  demanded,  in  a  voice 
which  he  endeavored  to  make  stern. 

"To  see  what  you're  doing  on  what  I  think  is  my 
wife's  property." 

Mr.  Braden  laughed. 

"Your  wife's  property!  Not  much.  Her  land — if 
you  mean  what  I  sold  to  her  father — lies  east  of  here. 
This  is  mine.  I  bought  it  from  the  government  fifteen 
years  ago." 

Mr.  Braden's  tone  was  loud,  assertive.  But  his  eyes, 
after  a  moment,  shifted  away  from  Angus'  steady  stare. 

"You're  lying!"  the  latter  said. 

"Lying,  am  I?"  Braden  snarled.  "You'd  better  be 
careful  what  you  say,  young  man.  This  is  my  land,  and 
I  have  the  grant.  Your  wife  has  her  deeds,  hasn't  she? 
Take  a  look  at  them  before  you  come  here  shooting  off 
your  mouth." 

Obviously,  that  was  the  thing  to  do. 

"Why  were  you  and  French  trying  to  buy  my  wife's 
property?"  Angus  bluffed. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  French,"  Mr.  Braden 
asserted,  "but  I  never  tried  to  buy  your  wife's  property. 
It  has  nothing  to  do  with  this.  I  gave  the  deeds  of 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION  321 

what  I  sold  her  father,  to  French,  as  his  agent.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  tried  to  buy  it  from  her  or  not,  and  I 
don't  care." 

Angus  felt  that  he  was  up  against  a  blank  wall.  The 
deeds  alone  would  settle  the  question  conclusively.  But 
possibly  Braden  held  the  erroneous  idea  that  the  deeds 
had  been  lost  or  destroyed.  He  knew  that  French  had 
held  them  unregistered.  He  might  think  that  Faith 
could  not  produce  evidence  of  ownership. 

"In  case  you  have  any  doubt  about  it,"  Angus  said, 
"I  may  tell  you  that  French  gave  the  deeds  to  my  wife 
before  he  died." 

But  Mr.  Braden  merely  grinned.  "Well,  read  them," 
he  said.  "And  keep  off  my  property  after  this." 

"You  seem  fairly  anxious  about  that,"  Angus  retorted. 
"You're  trying  to  put  something  over,  Braden,  and  I 
give  you  notice  to  be  careful.  I've  had  my  satisfy  of 
your  dirty  work." 

"And  I  give  you  notice  to  keep  off  my  property,"  Mr. 
Braden  snarled.  "You  get  off  now,  or  I'll  have  my  men 
throw  you  off !" 

Angus  laughed,  his  temper  beginning  to  stir. 

"Tell  'em  to  go  to  it!"  he  challenged.  "You  old 
crook,  you've  been  trying  to  get  me  ever  since  I  was  a 
kid.  You  thought  you'd  get  my  ranch,  and  you  came 
mighty  near  it.  I'll  play  even  with  you  some  day,  and 
with  the  bunch  you  hired  last  summer  to  blow  my  ditch. 
Do  you  get  that,  Garland,  and  you,  Poole?" 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean?"  Garland  returned. 

"I  never  done  nothing  to  you,"  Mr.  Poole  declared 
nervously. 

Angus  eyed  them  grimly.  "It's  lucky  for  both  of 
you  I'm  not  sure,"  he  said. 

But  the  dispute  had  attracted  the  attention  of  the 


322       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

workmen.  They  rested  on  their  tools,  watching,  listen- 
ing curiously.  The  presence  of  these  reserves  gave  Mr. 
Braden  heart. 

"Get  out  of  here!"  he  shouted,  his  voice  shrill  with 
nervous  rage.  "Get  off  my  property,  and  stay  off  1  Talk 
about  your  ranch  I  Yours?  Bah  1  Bought  in  by  a  remit- 
tance man  that's  chasing  your  sister!  Hi,  boys!  run 
these  fellows  out!" 

The  men  started  forward,  and  Angus  recognized  the 
leader  as  the  big  Swede  who  had  once  been  handled  so 
roughly  by  Gavin  French.  But  Mr.  Braden's  taunt,  his 
reference  to  Chetwood  and  Jean,  had  cut  deep.  Sud- 
denly his  temper,  already  smouldering  hotly,  burst  into 
flame.  He  left  his  saddle  with  a  vaulting  spring,  and 
as  he  touched  the  ground  leaped  for  Mr.  Braden.  His 
hand  shot  out  and  fastened  upon  his  shoulder. 

Mr.  Braden  uttered  a  cry  like  the  squeal  of  a  rat 
beneath  an  owl's  claws.  Angus  jerked  him  forward, 
and  'drew  back  his  right  fist.  But  something,  perhaps 
the  age  or  lack  of  condition  of  the  man,  restrained  him. 
"You  old  skunk!"  he  gritted;  and  releasing  the  shoulder 
opened  his  right  hand  and  swung  it  wide,  stiff-armed. 
His  palm  cracked  against  Mr.  Braden's  cheek  and  ear 
with  a  report  like  a  pistol,  knocking  him  flat. 

But  the  man  who  had  followed  them  from  the  trail 
sprang  upon  Angus  from  behind,  trying  for  the  small 
of  the  back  with  his  knees.  The  shock  drove  Angus 
into  Garland.  The  three  became  a  locked  mass.  Sud- 
denly it  disintegrated.  Garland  staggered  back,  his 
hands  to  his  face.  The  guardian  of  the  trail,  torn  from 
his  hold,  was  lifted  and  hurled  upon  the  earth.  Poole, 
stooping  as  Angus  freed  himself,  caught  up  a  rock.  Gar- 
land, his  face  covered  with  blood,  was  reaching  beneath 
his  coat. 


A  NEW  COMPLICATION  323 

"Drop  that  rock!"  Rennie  roared.  "Nick  Garland, 
h'ist  your  hands !"  Gun  in  hand  he  menaced  the  oncom- 
ing rush  of  men.  "Keep  back  there !"  he  rasped.  "Drop 
them  mucksticks !  You  big  Swede  with  that  hammer,  I 
got  my  eye  on  you.  Hands  up,  the  bunch!  Sky  'em. 
Now — freeze!" 

The  commotion  was  suddenly  stilled.  The  little  man 
on  the  horse  dominated  the  situation.  His  gun  menaced, 
controlled. 

Mr.  Braden  quavered  shrill  denunciation. 

"I'll  have  you  arrested!"  he  threatened,  his  hand  to 
his  injured  cheek.  "Assault!  Trespass!  Threatening 
with  deadly  weapons!  We'll  see  what  the  law  has  to 
say  about  this !" 

"Well,  don't  overlook  this  here  little  statute  I  got 
in  my  hand,"  Rennie  warned  him.  "This  is  one  law 
you  can't  make  work  crooked  for  you." 

Garland  cursed,  shaking  his  fist.  "If  you  want  gun 
law  you'll  get  it !"  he  threatened. 

"I  will,  hey!"  Rennie  retorted.  "I  been  wise  some 
time  to  that  shoulder  gun  you  pack  under  your  coat, 
and  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do:  I'll  get  down  off'n  this 
cayuse  and  put  up  both  hands  empty  and  let  you  get 
your  hands  on  your  gun  butt.  And  then  I'll  bust  your 
arm  while  you're  drawin' !  How'd  that  suit  you,  you 
dam'  four-flush?" 

But  Garland  did  not  see  fit  to  accept  the  challenge. 
Rennie  eyed  him  with  contempt.  "I  guess  bushwhackin'  's 
about  your  limit,"  he  said;  "and  I  dunno'  's  you  pack 
the  nerve  for  that.  Come  on,  Angus,  let's  go !" 

When  they  were  down  the  trail  and  riding  side  by 
side  Rennie  shook  his  head. 

"Now  maybe  you  see  how  handy  a  gun  can  come  in. 
But  all  that  didn't  do  no  good.  Your  wife  either  owns  the 


324        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

property  or  she  don't,  and  the  way  Braden  talked,  he 
seemed  to  be  mighty  sure  about  it.  If  I  was  you  I'd  go 
and  see  Judge  Riley." 

Angus  did  so  the  next  day. 

"If  you  had  come  in  yesterday  instead  of  going  off 
half-cocked,"  the  judge  told  him  severely,  "I  could  have 
shown  you  the  deeds.  They  came  back  some  days  ago. 
The  only  thing  to  do  is  to  get  Barnes  or  somebody  to 
make  a  survey  and  see  what  its  boundaries  are." 

Angus  hunted  up  Barnes,  the  local  surveyor,  and 
drove  him  out  to  Faith's  ranch.  The  place  of  beginning 
named  in  the  deed  was  with  reference  to  the  eastern 
corner  of  the  large  block  owned  by  Braden.  Thence 
Barnes  ran  his  line  west  until  according  to  the  wording 
of  the  deed  he  reached  the  spot  which  should  be  the 
easterly  corner  of  Faith's  property.  Planting  a  post 
there  he  continued  to  work  west.  Reaching  the  spot 
which  according  to  the  description  was  the  southwest 
corner,  he  turned  off  his  angle  to  work  north.  Angus 
peered  through  the  instrument,  noting  where  the  cross- 
hairs notched  upon  the  landscape. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  right?"  he  asked. 

"Of  course  I'm  sure,"  Barnes  replied  somewhat 
tartly.  "If  you  think  I  don't  know  my  business  you  can 
get  somebody  else." 

"Then,"  said  Angus,  "this  survey  won't  take  in  that 
round  mountain  at  all?" 

"Not  a  foot  of  it,"  Barnes  replied.  "The  line  will 
run  just  by  its  east  base." 

And  when  the  survey  was  completed  it  was  evident 
that  Faith's  deeds  gave  her  no  title  whatever  to  the  land 
claimed  by  Mr.  Braden.  The  deeds  were  conclusive; 
Barnes'  survey  accurate.  Suspicions  amounted  to 
nothing. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

BRADEN  MISSES  SOME  PAPERS 

THE  discovery  of  coal  coming  on  top  of  sudden 
activity  in  railway  survey  filled  the  hills  with  pros- 
pectors, amateur  and  otherwise.  But  no  further 
discoveries  were  made.  Indeed,  Mr.  Braden's  discov- 
ery had  been  made  by  accident,  according  to  his  own 
account  of  it,  which  was  more  or  less  along  historic 
lines.  He  proceeded  serenely  with  development.  He 
spoke  largely  of  potential  output,  refusing  to  consider 
tentative  proposals.  Later  he  might  organize  a  com- 
pany and  offer  shares  to  the  public,  but  just  then  he  pre- 
ferred to  keep  the  entire  ownership  himself.  He  became 
a  personage  of  more  local  importance  than  ever,  de- 
ferred to,  his  opinions  quoted.  In  this  notoriety  he 
basked  as  in  the  sun.  Almost  daily  he  visited  his 
prospect. 

He  was  driving  back  to  town  one  evening  when  he 
met  Gerald  French.  Mr.  Braden,  who  for  reasons  of 
his  own  had  rather  avoided  these  young  men  since  their 
father's  death,  nodded  pleasantly  and  would  have  passed 
on,  but  Gerald  stopped  and  held  up  his  hand. 

"I'd  like  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you,"  he  said. 

"Can  you  come  in  to-morrow?  I'm  rather  in  a  hurry. 
To-night  I  have  to  preside  at  a  meeting." 

"What  I  have  to  say  won't  take  long,"  young  French 
told  him.  "I  want  to  come  to  a  definite  understanding 
with  you  about  this  coal  property." 

Mr.  Braden,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  experienced  a 
decidedly  nervous  feeling.  "Huh !"  he  said.  "An  under- 
standing! What  do  you  mean?" 

325 


326        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  know  damned  well  what  I  mean,"  Gerald  re- 
plied. "You  and  my  father  were  in  this  thing  together. 
He  had  an  interest — or  was  to  have  one.  We  expect  to 
have  the  same  interest.  Is  that  clear  enough  for  you?" 

It  could  not  be  much  clearer,  but  nevertheless  Mr. 
Braden  if  not  bewildered  gave  an  excellent  imitation  of 
that  state  of  mind. 

"Your  father's  interest  in  my  coal  property!"  he 
exclaimed.  "There  is  some  mistake.  Your  father  had 
no  interest." 

"Oh,  yes,  he  had,"  Gerald  maintained. 

"But  I  tell  you  you  are  mistaken,"  Mr.  Braden  pro- 
tested. "I  give  you  my  absolute  assurance  that  he  had 
no  interest  whatever." 

"Your  assurance — hell!"  Gerald  sneered.  "What  do 
you  take  me  for,  anyway?  Do  you  think  I'm  not  wise 
to  you?" 

"If  you  have  any  evidence  of  your  father's  interest, 
produce  it,"  Mr.  Braden  returned. 

"So  that's  the  ground  you  take,  is  it?"  said  Gerald. 
"Well,  I  guess  you  know  I  haven't  any  evidence  that 
would  hold.  But  all  the  same  the  two  of  you  were 
partners  in  this  deal.  I  know  it,  whether  I  can  prove 
it  or  not.  And  what  we  want  is  to  be  let  in  on  this 
on  a  fifty-fifty  basis  with  you." 

"You  do,  hey?"  Mr.  Braden  replied  sharply.  "Well, 
you  won't  be.  Your  father  had  no  interest  at  all.  As  it 
is,  he  owes  me  money,  which — " 

"Forget  it!"  Gerald  interrupted.  "He  steered  a  lot 
of  business  your  way,  and  I'll  bet  you  broke  better  than 
even.  As  for  the  coal,  I  saw  a  sample  of  it  on  his 
desk  months  ago.  You  weren't  giving  out  samples. 
Then  he  was  trying  to  buy  the  Winton  property.  Buy 
it?  He  couldn't  have  bought  anything  the  way  he  was 


BRADEN  MISSES  SOME  PAPERS        327 

fixed  at  the  time,  and  you  know  it.     You  were  going  to 
put  up  for  it,  and  you  know  that,  too." 
"What  has  that  to  do  with  the  coal?" 
"It  had  something  to  do  with  it.     I'm  telling  you 
that  we  want  a  slice,  and  we're  going  to  have  it — 
somehow." 

"If  you  think  I'm  going  to  give  away  property  to  peo- 
ple who  have  no  right  to  it,  you're  much  mistaken," 
Mr.  Braden  stated  emphatically.  "If  you  can  bring  any 
evidence — " 

"I  told  you  I  couldn't,  because  I  think  you  know  that 
already.  And  you  probably  know  we  are  broke.  Being 
broke,  we're  not  going  to  be  particular  about  how  we 
get  money." 

"Are  you  threatening  me?"  Mr.  Braden  asked  some- 
what nervously. 

"Call  it  what  you  like.  You're  pretty  smooth,  Bra- 
den, but  you're  also  a  hog;  and  you're  a  fool  to  hold 
out  on  us.  You'll  lose  by  it.  Do  you  think  I  don't 
know  where  the  money  came  from  for  a  lot  of  things — 
for  blowing  Mackay's  ditch  for  instance?  Do  you  sup- 
pose I  thought  Garland  was  putting  up  himself?" 

"Are  you  trying  to  blackmail  me?"  Mr.  Braden 
demanded. 

"No,"  Gerald  replied.  "I'm  giving  you  a  chance 
now  to  come  through." 

"You  won't  get  ajiy  money  from  me,"  Mr.  Braden 
declared.  "I  financed  your  father  from  time  to  time  for 
reasons  of— er — friendship,  but  I'm  not  going  to  do 
the  like  for  you  young  men.  If  you  want  money,  earn, 
it  like  other  people." 

"That's  your  last  word,  is  it?" 

"Absolutely  my  last." 

"All  right,"  said  Gerald.    "Now  go  ahead,  Braden, 


328         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

and  be  careful  you  don't  bump  into  something  hard." 

Mr.  Braden  drove  on.  At  first  Gerald's  words  gave 
him  considerable  uneasiness,  but  as  he  thought  them 
over  he  came  to  the  comfortable  conclusion  that  they 
were  principally  bluff.  Gerald  had  admitted  that  he  had 
no  evidence  of  his  father's  interest.  Also  they  were 
broke,  as  Mr.  Braden  knew  very  well.  All  they  had 
was  the  ranch,  which  was  mortgaged  to  the  hilt,  and  the 
mortgage  was  far  in  arrears.  Likely  they  would  get 
out  of  the  country,  scatter  and  go  to  the  devil  individu- 
ally. 

He  had  seen  no  more  of  Angus  Mackay,  though  he 
knew  that  the  latter  had  had  a  survey  made.  There 
could  be  no  collusion  between  Mackay  and  the  French 
boys,  to  embarrass  him.  The  latter  were  all  more  or 
less  hostile  to  Mackay,  and  especially  Blake. 

So  Mr.  Braden  drove  home,  had  supper,  presided  at 
his  meeting  and  sought  his  own  apartments.  There, 
having  lighted  his  lamp,  he  opened  his  little  safe  and, 
taking  out  a  bundle  of  papers,  returned  with  them  to  the 
light.  By  rights,  the  papers  which  he  had  abstracted 
from  the  safe  of  Godfrey  French  should  have  been  on 
top  of  the  bundle ;  but  they  were  not.  He  stripped  off 
the  rubber  band  which  bound  the  bundle,  and  ran 
through  it  rapidly.  He  could  not  find  what  he  sought. 

Mr.  Braden  sat  up  straight,  his  eyes  widening  in  an 
expression  which  bore  a  strong  family  resemblance  to 
fear.  Once  more,  with  fingers  which  shook  a  little,  he 
went  through  the  papers.  Nothing !  And  yet  he  had  a 
distinct  recollection  of  snapping  that  rubber  band  around 
them. 

Catching  up  the  lamp  he  set  it  beside  the  safe  and 
went  through  its  contents.  His  movements  became  more 
hurried,  more  nervous  as  his  search  progressed.  But 


BRADEN  MISSES  SOME  PAPERS       329 

at  the  end  of  it,  when  he  had  gone  through  the  contents 
of  the  safe  half  a  dozen  times,  it  was  absolutely  certain 
that  his  search  was  in  vain.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  but 
sat  down  because  something  seemed  to  have  happened 
to  the  stiffening  of  his  knees. 

"My  God!"  he  said  aloud,  "they're  gone!" 

It  appeared  to  be  a  shocking  discovery.  He  had 
found  the  safe  locked,  but  somebody  must  have  had 
access  thereto.  He  felt  for  the  key  which  hung  behi-nd 
the  safe,  and  found  it.  Nobody,  to  his  knowledge,  knew 
of  that  hiding  place ;  but  somebody  must  have  known  of 
it.  Naturally,  he  thought  of  Gerald  French.  But  if 
French  had  gone  through  his  safe,  he  would  have 
dropped  some  hint  of  it  during  their  interview. 

A  new  thought  struck  him.  Was  anything  else  miss- 
ing? Engrossed  in  the  search  for  those  particular 
papers  he  had  not  thought  of  that.  He  had  no  schedule 
of  the  safe's  contents,  but  he  had  an  excellent  memory. 
Once  more  he  went  through  the  papers  on  the  floor,  and 
at  last  he  straightened  up  from  his  task  with  a  full-sized 
oath. 

"Nick  Garland!"  he  muttered.  "That  envelope  is 
gone,  too!" 

Now,  some  years  before,  Garland  had  secured  money 
from  Mr.  Braden  on  a  promissory  note,  apparently 
endorsed  by  a  well-to-do  but  somewhat  illiterate  rancher. 
When  the  note  matured  Garland  was  unable  to  meet  it, 
and  Mr.  Braden  intimated  that  he  would  have  recourse 
to  tne  liability  of  the  endorser.  Whereupon  Garland, 
in  a  panic,  had  admitted  that  he  himself  had  reproduced 
the  rancher's  painful  scrawl.  Mr.  Braden  secured  his 
signature  to  a  statement  to  that  effect,  and  filed  it  away 
with  the  note.  Eventually  Garland  paid  or  worked  out 
the  face  of  the  note,  but  Mr.  Braden  kept  it  and  the 


330       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

confession  as  well;  Garland  for  obvious  reasons  being 
unable  to  insist  upon  their  delivery.  Now  the  envelope 
containing  that  old  note  and  the  signed  statement  had 
disappeared.  The  inference,  to  Mr.  Braden,  required 
no  elaborate  reasoning. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

TURKEY  PLAYS  A  HAND 

MR.  BRADEN'S  reasoning  which  fixed  the  respon- 
sibility on  Garland,  was  perfectly  logical;  but  his 
conclusion  was  entirely  wrong.  The  missing 
documents  were  in  the  possession,  not  of  Garland,  but  of 
Turkey  Mackay.  Turkey,  on  the  night  when  he  had 
seen  Mr.  Braden  take  certain  papers  from  French's  safe, 
had  gone  to  that  ranch  to  see  young  Larry  about  a  horse. 
What  he  had  seen,  which  included  the  fatal  seizure  of 
Godfrey  French,  had  put  his  errand  entirely  out  of  his 
head.  The  papers  which  Braden  had  taken,  he  reasoned, 
must  be  important.  The  French  boys  would  sure  raise 
blazes  if  they  knew  of  it.  Hence,  he  had  followed  Bra- 
den home,  debating  the  feasibility  of  holding  him  up 
and  taking  the  papers  by  force,  but  had  decided  against 
it.  Reaching  town  he  had  scurried  around  to  the  rear 
of  Mr.  Braden's  apartments,  and  when  the  light  went 
on  had  chinned  himself  up  to  the  window  and  seen  him 
place  papers,  which  must  be  those  in  question,  in  the 
little  safe;  and  he  had  also  observed  where  Mr.  Braden 
had  secured  the  key. 

Thereafter  he  merely  awaited  a  favorable  opportunity 
to  investigate  the  safe.  There  must  be  private  papers 
in  it  which  Braden  would  be  sorry  to  lose.  A  skunk  like 
that  would  have  a  lot  of  stuff  he  wouldn't  want  people  to 
know  about.  Therefore,  Turkey  constructed  a  short 
ladder  which,  under  cover  of  night,  he  concealed  beneath 
a  pile  of  old  lumber  in  the  rear  of  Mr.  Braden's  office. 
He  found  his  opportunity  in  the  night  of  the  meeting 

331 


332        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

at  which  Mr.  Braden  presided.  It  was  a  public  meeting, 
and  Turkey,  looking  in  at  the  door  of  the  hall,  noted 
Mr.  Braden  on  the  platform.  It  was  exactly  what  he 
had  been  looking  for.  The  night  was  cloudy,  dark,  with 
a  spatter  of  rain.  Turkey  made  tracks  for  his  shack, 
and  securing  a  short  bit  of  steel  which  bore  a  strong 
family  resemblance  to  a  jimmy,  and  a  flashlight,  hast- 
ened to  the  rear  of  Mr.  Braden's  building,  erected  his 
ladder,  forced  the  window,  found  the  key  without  diffi- 
culty and  opened  the  safe. 

At  first  he  found  the  safe's  contents  disappointing. 
The  old  accounts  and  letters  which  he  scanned  hastily, 
seemed  innocent,  and  what  books  there  were  contained 
no  record  of  crime.  The  first  item  of  interest  was  an 
envelope  endorsed  with  Garland's  name.  This  Turkey 
opened  and  read  the  contents.  Grinning  to  himself  he 
put  them  in  his  pocket.  Anyway,  he  now  had  some- 
thing on  Garland.  Searching  further,  he  found  what 
seemed  to  be  a  conveyance  in  duplicate  from  Braden  to 
Sewell  Winton.  Turkey  frowned,  puzzled.  Sewell  Win- 
ton?  That  was  the  name  of  Angus'  wife's  father.  Then 
those  deeds  should  be  in  her  possession.  What  was 
Braden  doing  with  them? 

Suddenly  Turkey  thought  of  the  night  he  had  seen 
Braden  and  French  together  in  that  very  room,  poring 
over  documents  which  French  had  taken  away.  French 
was  Angus'  wife's  uncle,  and  had  bought  the  property 
she  had  lived  on  for  her  father,  Turkey  had  heard.  Now 
French  had  taken  documents  away;  and  Braden  had 
stolen  two  documents  from  French's  safe.  Here  were 
two  documents  which,  though  he  could  not  identify  them, 
were  connected  more  or  less  with  both  men.  Unless  he 
could  find  others  bearing  directly  on  French,  these  must 
be  the  ones. 


TURKEY  PLAYS  A  HAND  333 

Having  reached  this  conclusion  with  the  simple  logic 
of  a  savage  working  out  a  trail,  Turkey  placed  the  deeds 
in  his  pocket  and  continued  his  search;  but  he  found 
nothing  more  connected  with  French,  nor  were  there 
any  other  papers  which  looked  suspicious.  And  so  Tur- 
key reluctantly  closed  the  safe,  replaced  the  key  where 
he  had  found  it,  reflecting  that  it  might  come  in  handy 
again,  and  departed  as  he  had  come. 

When  he  reached  his  shack  he  got  into  his  bunk  as 
being  a  position  favorable  to  profound  thought,  but 
went  to  sleep  before  he  thought  of  anything.  In  the 
morning  breakfast  absorbed  his  mental  faculties  until  it 
was  consumed.  Then  he  lit  a  smoke  and  read  all  the 
papers  through. 

Those  connected  with  Garland  were  obvious  enough, 
self-explanatory,  but  he  did  not  know  just  what  to  do 
with  them.  If  he  made  them  public  he  would  have  to 
account  for  his  possession  of  them.  That  would  not 
do.  He  would  keep  them  for  a  while  and  see  what 
turned  up. 

But  the  deeds  were  a  different  matter.  They  repre- 
sented ownership,  and  so  should  be  in  the  hands  of  his 
sister-in-law  whom  he  had  never  seen.  Why  hadn't 
Braden  or  French  given  her  these  deeds?  Why  had 
Braden  swiped  them  from  French?  The  girl  had  been, 
living  on  the  land,  so  that  she  knew  it  belonged  to  her. 
Maybe,  now  that  French  was  dead,  that  old  skunk  Bra* 
den  was  going  to  pretend  that  he  never  sold  her  father 
the  place  at  all.  But  from  what  he,  Turkey,  knew  of 
the  old  Tetreau  lay-out,  it  wasn't  worth  going  to  much 
trouble  about. 

Suddenly  Turkey  whistled  softly  and  swore  to  him- 
self. He  must  be  a  bonehead!  Braden  wanted  to  get 
hold  of  that  land  because  it  was  near  his  coal.  Sure  I 


334        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

That  was  it.  The  darn,  old  crook,  trying  to  hold  out 
on  a  girl  after  he'd  made  a  strike  like  that  on  his  own 
land!  Why,  the  blanked,  double-dashed  old  hog! 
Angus'  wife  must  have  the  deeds  at  once,  or  Braden 
might  put  something  over  on  her.  It  wouldn't  do  to 
trust  the  mail  or  any  one  else.  He  hated  to  go  to  the 
ranch,  but  he  must  give  them  to  her  himself. 

Turkey  thereupon  saddled  his  blue  mare  and  clattered 
away.  The  mare  was  in  high  spirits,  the  morning  cool, 
and  youth  and  good  health  surged  in  Turkey's  veins.  As 
he  rode  he  sang  classics  of  the  old  frontier  which  for 
excellent  reasons  have  never  been  embalmed  in  type. 
Within  a  couple  of  miles  of  his  destination  the  road 
dipped  down  to  a  wooden  flat,  crossed  a  creek  and 
mounted  a  steep  grade.  Turkey,  walking  the  blue  mare, 
was  half  way  up  when  a  horse  and  rider  appeared  at  the 
top.  To  his  amazement  they  bore  down  on  him  at  a  run, 
and  to  his  greater  amazement  the  rider  was  a  girl.  For 
anybody  to  run  a  horse  down  that  grade  was  to  tempt 
Providence.  But  in  a  moment  he  realized  that  the  horse 
was  running  away. 

The  girl  had  given  up  trying  to  hold  him,  and  was 
letting  him  run.  The  animal,  a  powerful  bay,  had  the 
bit,  and  his  eyes  showed  white.  His  rider  was  sitting 
still,  holding  the  horn  with  one  hand,  trying  to  adjust 
her  body  to  the  thumping  jar  of  the  downhill  run.  She 
was  staying  with  it  gamely,  and  though  her  face  was 
white  her  mouth  was  set.  She  was  a  complete  stranger 
to  Turkey. 

The  latter  was  not  foolish  enough  to  endeavor  to  stop 
a  runaway  head  on,  on  a  grade.  He  wheeled  his  mare 
in  to  the  bank,  giving  right-of-way. 

"Stay  with  it!"  he  yelled.  "I'll  get  you  at  the  bot- 
tom!" And  as  the  big  bay  thundered  past  he  regained 


TURKEY  PLAYS  A  HAND  335 

the  road  and  sent  the  mare  down  after  the  runaway  at  a 
pace  which  even  he  considered  risky. 

He  reached  the  bottom  some  fifty  yards  behind  the 
bay,  and  for  the  first  time  called  on  the  real  speed  of 
the  mare.  She  overhauled  rapidly,  but  as  he  drew  nearly 
level  and  reached  for  the  rein,  the  bay  swerved,  aban- 
doned the  road  and  took  to  the  brush.  But  the  blue 
mare  was  accustomed  to  hard  riding  after  wild,  long- 
legged  steers  up  and  down  brush-covered  coulees.  She 
stuck  to  the  bay,  through  an  undergrowth  that  slashed 
and  whipped,  and  once  more  brought  Turkey  level.  This 
time  he  got  a  hold,  and  dragged  the  bay  to  a  halt. 

"Th — thank  you!"  the  girl  murmured,  and  swayed' a 
little  catching  the  horn  with  both  hands.  "I — I  think 
I'll  get  down,  for  a  minute." 

"Sure  1"  Turkey  agreed,  but  as  he  saw  how  she  slid 
from  the  saddle  he  leaped  down  and  caught  her. 

"I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute.  I  must  have  been  fright- 
ened. It's  so  silly  of  me." 

She  sat  down  on  the  grass,  and  Turkey  tied  the  bay  to 
a  sapling.  This  done  he  regarded  the  girl  furtively, 
deciding  that  though  not  exactly  pretty,  she  was  mighty 
easy  to  look  at.  Blue  eyes,  fair  hair,  nice  skin,  tall  and 
well-built.  He  hoped  she  wouldn't  faint.  That  would 
be — well,  it  would  be  embarrassing.  He  wouldn't  know 
what  the — that  is  he  would  be  helpless. 

"I'm  not  going  to  faint,"  she  said  as  if  in  answer  to 
his  thought.  "I'm  just  shaken  up." 

Turkey  nodded.  A  run  down  hill  jolts  even  a  hard- 
ened puncher  at  times.  Girls  were  complicated  machines 
— soft,  too.  Shaking  up  wasn't  good  for  'em.  But  in  a 
moment  the  color  began  to  come  back  to  her  cheeks. 

"There,"  she  said,  "I  feel  better.  I  want  to  thank 
you  really,  now." 


336        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Turkey.  "I  couldn't  stop  him 
on  the  grade ;  he'd  have  gone  over,  likely.  What  started 
him?" 

"A  piece  of  newspaper  blew  off  the  sides  of  the  road 
under  his  feet.  I  couldn't  hold  him  at  all." 

Turkey  feebly  expressed  his  opinion  of  people  who 
dropped  paper  beside  a  road,  the  feebleness  being  due 
to  the  sex  of  his  unknown  companion. 

The  girl  regarded  him  closely. 

"You  remind  me  of  somebody,"  she  said,  "but  I  don't 
think  I've  ever  seen  you  before." 

"My  name  is  Mackay,"  Turkey  vouchsafed,  and 
waited  for  a  similar  confidence  which  did  not  come. 

"Mackay!"  the  girl  exclaimed.  Her  eyes  were  veiled 
for  a  moment.  When  she  again  looked  him  in  the  face 
their  expression  had  altered. 

"Are  you  the  Mr.  Mackay  who  has  a  ranch  some- 
where near  here?" 

"That's  my  brother,  Angus,"  Turkey  replied. 

"What  a  really  Scotch  name !  Yours  should  be  Don- 
ald, or  Duncan,  or  Murdoch?" 

"Worse  than  that,"  Turkey  grinned.  "Torquil.  But 
most  people  call  me  'Turkey.' ' 

"May  I  call  you  Turkey'?" 

"If — if  you  like,"  Turkey  stammered. 

"Well,  I  do  like.    And  I  like  you,  Turkey." 

"Huh !"  said  Turkey. 

"Really  and  truly  I  do.     Don't  you  like  me?" 

"I  don't  know  you,"  the  startled  Turkey  responded 
defensively. 

"Oh,  Turkey !  what  a  speech !  But  wouldn't  you  like 
to  know  me  better?" 

Gosh!  was  this  darn  girl  trying  to  be  fresh,  to  flirt 
with  him. 


TURKEY  PLAYS  A  HAND  337 

"I — 1  hadn't  thought  about  it,"  he  stammered. 

"Oh,  worse  and  worse  I  I  want  you  to  like  me,  and 
I  want  you  to  come  and  see  me.  I'm  going  to  live  here 
— in  this  district — for  a  while." 

Turkey  cast  a  longing  eye  at  the  blue  mare.  He  would 
feel  much  safer  in  the  saddle. 

"Will  you  pay  me  a  visit,  Turkey — a  nice,  long  visit. 
I'll  make  you  comfy,  really  I  will.  I'd  love  to." 

This  was  a  holy  fright. 

"I'm  mighty  busy  just  now,"  he  replied. 

"You  mean  you  won't.     That's  not  nice." 

"Well,  maybe  I'll  drop  around  some  time,"  Turkey 
relented. 

"I'll  look  forward  to  it.  And  you  know,  Turkey 
dear" — Turkey  jumped — "in  the  brave  days  of  old 
when  brave  knights  rescued  ladies  they  were  sometimes 
rewarded.  Would  you  mind  very  much  if  I  kissed  you  ?" 

Turkey  backed  hastily  toward  the  faithful  blue  mare. 
This  girl  was  crazy,  and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it. 
She  shouldn't  be  out  alone.  A  crazy  girl,  plum'  bugs  on 
men !  A  devil  of  a  note !  And  it  was  his  luck  to  get 
into  a  jackpot  like  that! 

"You — you'd  better  not,"  he  said  desperately.  "It 
wouldn't  be  right,  anyway.  I — I  got  consumption." 

This  amazing  female  laughed. 

"Please  let  me  kiss  you,  Turkey!" 

"Not  by  a — I  mean,  no  chance!"  Turkey  replied  em- 
phatically. "If  you  feel  able  to  ride  I'll  go  along  with 
you  to  wherever  you're  going." 

The  girl  rose  obediently.  But  as  Turkey  turned  to 
the  horses  two  strong,  rounded  arms  clasped  him  and 
warm  lips  pressed  a  kiss  upon  his  cheek.  Disengaged, 
he  staggered  back. 

"It  wasn't  so  bad,  was  it?"  the  girl  laughed.    "You 


338        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

won't  be  so  shy  next  time."  She  drew  a  fringed  buck- 
skin glove  from  her  left  hand,  and  to  Turkey's  utter 
horror  he  beheld  the  dull  gleam  of  gold  upon  the  third 
finger. 

A  wedding  ring!  Oh  Lord!  Somebody's  crazy  wife. 
Suppose  the  husband  showed  up  and  found  a  kissing 
match  going  on! 

"Turkey  dear,"  said  the  crazy  wife,  "you  haven't 
asked  me  who  I  am." 

"Well,  who  are  you  ?"  said  Turkey.  Likely  she  would 
claim  to  be  Joan  of  Arc  or  Pocahontas,  and  she  would 
be  calling  him  old  Cap.  Smith  next. 

"I  am  Faith  Mackay,  Angus'  wife!" 

"What!"  Turkey  gasped. 

Faith  laughed,  her  eyes  dancing. 

"I  know  you'll  forgive  me,  Turkey.  But  you  were  so 
funny,  and  so  be-yewtifully  shy!  You  wouldn't  come  to 
our  wedding,  and  I  never  saw  you,  and  so  I  couldn't 
resist  having  a  little  fun  with  you." 

Turkey  grinned  shamefacedly.  "I  thought  you  were 
crazy,"  he  admitted. 

"Yes,  I  thought  you  did.  But  I'm  not — even  if  I  did 
want  to  kiss  you." 

"You  can  do  it  again  if  you  like,"  Turkey  suggested 
with  sudden  enthusiasm. 

"Perhaps  I  shall  when  you  come  to  pay  me  that  long 
visit." 

Turkey  frowned.  "I  guess  you  don't  know  how 
things  are.  Angus — " 

"Now,  Turkey,  listen  to  me :  The  whole  trouble  with 
you  Mackays  is  that  you  are  too  stiff-necked  to  get 
together  and  talk  over  your  differences  frankly.  Angus 
has  his  faults,  but  his  good  qualities  outweigh  them. 
He's  a  man,  Turkey,  and  I'm  proud  of  him." 


TURKEY  PLAYS  A  HAND  339 

uOh,  he's  a  man,  all  right,"  Turkey  admitted  frankly. 
"I  never  said  he  wasn't.  He's  a  darn  good  man;  but 
all  the  same  he's  a  darn  hard  man  for  me  to  get  along 
with.  But  it's  funny.  I  was  going  to  the  ranch  to-day 
to  see  you." 

"That  was  nice  of  you." 

"I  didn't  mean  it  that  way.  I  wanted  to  give  you 
the  deeds  to  your  land." 

"My  deeds?     But  I  have  them." 

"Are  you  sure?"  Turkey  exclaimed. 

"Of  course  I'm  sure.  My  uncle  gave  them  to  me 
before  he  died." 

Turkey  was  crestfallen.  She  ought  to  know.  Then 
what  the  dickens  was  the  junk  he  had  in  his  pocket? 
He  produced  the  deeds  and  handed  them  to  her. 

"Well,  all  I  know  is  that  these  look  like  deeds  to 
your  father.  I  thought  you  ought  to  have  'em,  so  I 
brought  'em  along." 

She  regarded  the  papers  with  a  puzzled  frown. 

"Why  they  seem  just  the  same  as  the  others.  Why 
should  there  be  two  sets  of  deeds?" 

"Search  me,"  Turkey  admitted.  "They're  the  same, 
are  they?" 

"I  think  so.  I  mean  they  look  the  same,  signatures 
and  all."  She  read  the  description  of  the  property.  "A 
thousand  acres.  Yes,  that's  the  same.  Oh,  wait !  'Begin- 
ning at  a  point  .  .  .  and  thence  westerly — ' '  Her  fore- 
head wrinkled  in  an  effort  of  recollection.  "Why,  Tur- 
key, they  aren't!  I  mean  it's  the  same  number  of  acres, 
but  this  puts  my  east  corner  further  west.  I'm  almost 
sure—  Oh!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  Turkey  asked,  for  she  was 
staring  wide-eyed. 

"Oh,    don't  you   see — but  of  course  you  wouldn't 


340        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

because  you  don't  know — but  if  these  deeds  are  real — 
I  mean  if  they  are  the  real  deeds — I  own  the  land  which 
Mr.  Braden  claims — the  coal  land!" 

The  comment  which  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  startled 
Turkey  went  unreproved. 

"Where  did  you  get  these?"  Faith  demanded. 

Turkey  told  her  the  truth.  When  he  had  concluded 
Faith  sat  silent,  thinking. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  "there  are  several  things  I 
don't  understand.  But  one  thing  is  clear  enough :  You 
must  come  back  to  the  ranch,  and  you  and  Angus  must 
be  friends  again.  I'm  going  to  insist  on  that.  No  more 
misunderstandings.  We  all  owe  you  a  great  deal,  Tur- 
key. And  I'm  going  to  kiss  you  again." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

DUPLICATE   DEEDS 

ANGUS  entering  the  ranch  house  from  the  rear, 
was  amazed  to  see  Turkey  with  his  wife  and 
Jean.  But  when  he  learned  of  the  runaway  he 
took  his  brother's  hand  in  a  hard  grip. 

"Go  easy!"  Turkey  objected,  rescuing  his  crushed 
digits.  "You've  got  no  business  letting  her  ride  that 
cayuse.  He's  a  new  one  on  me." 

"It  wasn't  Doughnuts,"  Faith  exclaimed.  "It  was 
that  new  bay,  but  I  won't  do  it  again.  But  it  was  worth 
it  to  meet  Turkey  and  bring  him  home.  Now  you  boys 
have  got  to  make  up.  Turkey,  tell  him  what  you  told 
me." 

Turkey  told  that  and  more.  He  told  of  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  overheard  between  Garland  and  Poole. 

"Why,  I  blamed  you  for  that  ditch  business,"  Angus 
said. 

"I  know  you  did — now ;  but  I  didn't  know  it  that  night 
when  you  came  to  my  shack." 

Turkey  proceeded.  He  told  of  seeing  Braden  take. 
the  documents  from  French's  safe,  and  of  how  he  had 
obtained  them. 

Angus  scanned  the  deeds  which  Faith  handed  him, 
and  going  to  a  desk  in  the  corner  found  those  which 
French  had  given  Faith.  He  spread  them  on  the  table 
and  the  four  bent  above  them.  Faith  caught  her  breath 
sharply. 

"The  description  of  the  land  is  different!"  she- cried. 

"Yes,  it  throws  your  land  further  west — all  of  it.. 
341 


According  to  this  your  west  line  would  be  about  where 
we  thought  it  was — where  French  originally  told  you 
it  ran." 

"Then—?" 

"Then  if  these  are  the  original  deeds,  you  own  the 
coal  prospect  that  Braden  is  developing." 

"If  they  are  the  originals  the  others  must  be 
forgeries." 

"Yes.  It's  plain  enough.  The  originals  were  made 
by  Braden  and  witnessed  by  French.  Somehow  they 
found  this  coal  and  then  they  tried  to  buy  you  out.  When 
you  woudn't  sell  but  demanded  your  deeds,  they  pre- 
pared new  ones,  moving  your  block  east  and  leaving  out 
the  coal  lands.  That  was  easy,  because  Braden  owned 
land  on  either  side  of  yours.  All  they  had  to  do  was 
to  sign  the  new  deeds  themselves.  Where  they  slipped 
up  was  in  not  destroying  the  originals.  I  don't  under- 
stand that,  unless  French  thought  their  possession  would 
give  him  a  hold  on  Braden  if  he  didn't  play  fair  with 
the  coal.  Braden  should  have  destroyed  them  when  he 
stole  them  from  French." 

"But  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I  had  better  see  Judge  Riley." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  and  me  and  maybe  Dave 
going  up  there  and  standing  up  the  bunch  and  running 
them  off  ?"  Turkey  suggested.  "I'd  like  to  hold  a  gun 
on  Garland.  I'm  going  to  get  him.  That  was  a  dirty 
trick—" 

"We'll  get  him.  But  Braden's  the  man  I'm  after. 
I'll  give  him  a  taste  of  the  law  he's  so  fond  of." 

"I'm  thinking  of  Kathleen,"  Faith  interposed.  If 
Braden  was  a  forger,  so  was  her  father." 

"But  you  can't  let  that  deprive  you  of  a  hill  full  of 
coal." 


DUPLICATE  DEEDS  343 

"No,  I  didn't  mean  that.  But  if  there  is  any  way  in, 
which  it  can  be  kept  quiet  please  take  it." 

"That  will  depend  on  Braden,"  Angus  replied.  "Any- 
way, I'll  see  Judge  Riley  the  first  thing  to-morrow." 

In  the  morning  they  entered  Judge  Riley's  office  before 
the  judge  had  lighted  his  first  pipe.  He  listened  to 
Turkey's  story,  puffing  hard,  occasionally  rumpling  his 
gray  mane. 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said.  "I  knew  that  some  time  Braden 
would  put  his  foot  outside  the  law.  Your  potential  law- 
breaker  merely  waits  for  an  opportunity  which  he  thinks 
is  safe.  Braden  thought  he  was  safe  enough,  and  he  is 
a  pretty  cautious  individual.  It  is  one  thing  to  be  mor- 
ally sure  that  he  committed  forgery  and  another  to  prove 
it.  Now,  let's  see  what  evidence  we  have  to  go  on." 

He  spread  out  both  sets  of  documents  on  his  desk  and 
studied  them  intently. 

"Both,"  he  observed  after  an  interval,  "are  in  my 
opinion  actually  signed  by  Braden  and  French — one  as 
grantor  and  the  other  as  witness.  I  know  their  signa- 
tures very  well.  The  notarial  certificate  of  execution  is 
not  material,  because  it  is  separate,  and  could  easily  have 
been  detached  from  the 'originals  and  attached  to  the 
others." 

"Your  theory  is  that  the  deeds  delivered  by  French 
to  your  wife  were  prepared  recently.  Let  us  see  if  we 
can  find  anything  in  the  deeds  themselves  to  corroborate 
that.  They  are  on  identical  legal  forms,  and  seem  to 
have  been  written  on  the  same  machine,  for  the  same 
letters  show  poor  alignment,  and  the  face  of  one,  the 
small  V  appears  to  have  been  injured.  Let  me  see: 
I  have  some  old  letters  of  Braden's." 

Rising  he  took  down  an  old  letter  file  and  searched 
through  it,  finally  removing  a  letter. 


344        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"This,  like  these  deeds,  is  dated  some  seven  years  ago, 
and  was  written  in  Braden's  office.  It  exhibits  the  same 
peculiarities  of  type." 

"Well,  wouldn't  that  show  that  both  deeds  were 
drawn  seven  years  ago?"  Angus  deduced  in  disappoint- 
ment, for  so  far  the  judge's  words  were  not  encour- 
aging. 

"Not  as  bad  as  that.  It  would  show  merely  that 
both  were  prepared  on  a  machine  owned  by  Braden  seven 
years  ago.  Here  are  other  letters  from  him,  written  on 
another  and  presumably  more  modern  machine.  He 
may  have  the  old  one  yet.  It  merely  points  to  careful 
preparation — painstaking  forgery.  But  Turkey,  here, 
cannot  testify  positively  that  Braden  was  carrying  a 
machine  in  the  case  that  night,  nor  did  he  see  him  write 
anything  on  a  machine.  He  cannot  identify  the  machine 
that  he  did  see." 

"No,"  Turkey  admitted. 

"So  that  even  if  we  found  the  old  machine  in  Braden's 
possession,  it  would  prove  nothing,"  the  judge  went  on. 
"Nor  can  you  positively  identify  the  documents  you  saw 
Braden  abstract  from  French's  safe?" 

"No." 

The  judge  rumpled  his  mane  and  reflected. 

"The  writing  is  slightly  fainter  in  the  deeds  which 
we  are  trying  to  prove  are  the  more  recent.  That  might 
go  to  show  either  that  they  were  written  long  ago,  or 
recently  with  a  dry  or  worn  ribbon  such  as  might  well 
be  in  an  old,  discarded  machine.  But  there  is  not  enough 
difference  to  get  us  anywhere  on  that  line.  We  can't 
depend  on  the  testimony  of  Braden's  stenographer,  for 
it  is  too  long  ago.  She  would  probably  identify  both  as 
having  been  written  on  or  about  the  dates  which  they 
bear,  merely  by  the  peculiarities  of  type  of  the  machine 


DUPLICATE  DEEDS  343 

she  used  then.  Her  evidence  would  probably  be  against 
us." 

"But  take  the  whole  thing,"  Angus  urged.  "Take 
French's  attempt  to  buy  my  wife  out." 

"Unfortunately,  you  have  no  evidence  to  connect 
Braden  with  that.  He  would  deny  all  connection  under 
oath,  as  he  did  to  you.  When  you  set  out  to  prove  a 
case  out  of  the  mouth  of  a  hostile  witness,  you  are 
embarking  on  a  very  doubtful  enterprise.  The  fact  is, 
Braden  himself  is  the  only  witness,  and  there  is  nothing 
so  far  to  contradict  the  evidence  he  will  undoubtedly 
give  if  called." 

"But  how  can  he  account  for  the  existence  of  two  sets 
of  deeds?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  judge  replied,  "but  he  will 
account  for  them.  Don't  underestimate  him.  He's  a 
cunning  fox.  Suppose  I  put  myself  in  his  place.  Assume 
that  the  documents  delivered  to  your  wife  by  French  are 
forgeries.  The  originals  I  should  have  destroyed,  but 
did  not.  They  are  stolen  from  my  safe.  I  do  not  know 
who  has  them.  I  may  suspect  Garland,  because  of  the 
disappearance  of  the  other  paper,  but  I  am  not  sure.  In 
any  event  I  must  provide  against  the  possibility  that 
they  may  be  used  against  me.  Now  what  story  will 
hold  water?  What  would  be  plausible?" 

He  drummed  his  spatulate  fingers  on  his  desk,  his 
eyes  half  closed. 

"My  effort,"  he  resumed  after  a  moment's  silence, 
"has  been  to  duplicate  the  originals  in  every  detail,  to 
make  it  appear  that  the  second  were  prepared  some 
seven  years  ago.  Then  my  explanation  must  be  one 
which  will  naturally  account  for  the  preparation  of  two 
sets  of  deeds  on  or  about  the  same  date.  And  that  can 
only  be  because  there  was  some  mistake  in  the  first  which 


rendered  the  preparation  of  the  second  necessary.  Now, 
what  is  the  most  natural  mistake,  the  most  everyday, 
common  mistake?" 

He  paused  again. 

"Misdescription  1"  he  announced,  "a  misdescription 
of  the  property,  a  clerical  error  in  that.  And  it's  so  pro- 
foundly simple !  The  instrument  signed  and  witnessed 
carelessly,  without  comparison;  then  the  discovery  that 
the  land  was  wrongly  described,  followed  by  the  prep- 
aration of  a  second  conveyance,  and  neglect  to  destroy 
the  first,  which  of  course  is  void  both  by  error  and  lack 
of  delivery.  There  you  are  I  That's  Braden's  defense. 
And  the  devil  of  it  is,  that  without  evidence  to  contradict 
it  it's  perfectly  good." 

"Do  you  mean  he  gets  away  with  it?"  Turkey 
exclaimed. 

"On  the  face  of  it  he  does,"  the  judge  replied,  "but 
sometimes  faces  alter.  No  man  can  construct  evidence 
without  a  weak  spot  somewhere.  Leave  these  papers 
with  me.  I'll  think  the  whole  thing  over  again." 

When  his  clients  had  gone  he  refilled  his  pipe  and  put 
his  feet  on  his  desk.  He  sat  for  an  hour,  motionless, 
his  cold  pipe  between  his  teeth.  Then  once  more  he 
scrutinized  the  deeds  carefully,  looking  at  the  faulty  type. 
At  last  he  held  them  to  the  light  and  peered  at  them. 
Then  he  brought  his  gnarled  old  fist  down. 

"By  George!"  he  muttered,  "it's  a  slim  chance,  and 
unprofessional  as  the  devil,  but  it's  about  the  only  one 
I  see.  As  matters  stand,  it  would  be  folly  to  launch 
an  action.  'Conscience  makes  cowards.'  That's  truer 
than  most  proverbs,  and  Braden's  a  rank  coward  at 
heart.  I'll  give  him  a  few  days  to  get  really  nervous, 
and  then  I'll  try  it.  It  may  work — yes,  it  may  work." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

GARLAND  PLAYS  A  HAND 

AS  Mr.  Braden  was  quite  sure  that  Garland  had 
abstracted  the  deeds  he  expected  to  receive  a 
proposition  from  him.    When  this  did  not  come 
he  was  puzzled.   What  was  Garland  waiting  for?   Was 
it  possible  that  he  was  dickering  with  Mackay? 

The  result  of  this  uncomfortable  suspicion  was  that 
he  began  to  sound  Garland,  speaking  carelessly  of 
Faith's  claim  to  the  property,  ridiculing  it.  Garland, 
being  by  no  means  a  fool,  began  to  wonder  why  Braden 
recurred  to  the  subject,  and  began  to  lead  him  on. 

"What  made  her  think  she  owned  the  thing?"  he 
asked.  "If  her  deeds  are  all  right  they  ought  to  show 
her  what's  hers." 

This  confirmed  Braden's  suspicions. 

"You  heard  Mackay  say  French  gave  them  to  her 
"before  he  died." 

"Yes,  I  heard  that,"  said  Garland.  But  if  Braden 
kept  insisting  on  those  deeds  there  must  be  something 
crooked  about  them.  If  they  had  been  made  years  ago, 
why  hadn't  they  been  handed  over?  And  why  was  Bra- 
den talking  to  him  ?  The  only  answer  was  that  he  must 
be  supposed  to  know  something  which  he  did  not.  How- 
ever, being  a  fair  poker  player  he  remembered  that  the 
bluff  of  a  pat  hand  has  been  known  to  win.  He  shot  at  a 
big  venture:  "As  long  as  she  doesn't  know  any  more 
than  those  deeds  tell  her,  I  guess  she  won't  make  you  any 
trouble,"  he  said. 

There  was  no  doubt  at  all  in  Mr.  Braden's  mind  now 
about  Garland. 

347 


348        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Look  here,"  he  said,  "are  you  going  to  make  trou- 
ble for  me — I  mean  are  you  going  to  try  to?" 

Garland  was  amazed  at  the  result  of  his  random  shot, 
but  had  no  objection  to  picking  up  the  birds  thus  fallen 
at  his  feet. 

"Not  if  you  do  the  fair  thing,"  he  replied. 

"What  do  you  call  fair?"  Mr.  Braden  demanded. 

Garland  was  in  deep  water.  Braden  wanted  him  to 
put  a  price  on  silence.  Well,  he  had  no  idea  of  the  price 
Braden  would  be  prepared  to  pay. 

"Fifty-fifty,"  he  replied  at  a  venture. 

"Fifty-fifty  1"  Mr.  Braden  echoed.  "Why,  you  hold- 
up, you  sneaking  safe-robber,  I'll  see  you  damned  first. 
Those  deeds  you  stole  aren't  worth  the  paper  they're 
written  on." 

Here  was  real  news  for  Garland.  Deeds  had  been 
stolen  from  Braden's  safe.  If  they  were  the  real  deeds 
of  the  property  and  French  and  Braden  had  delivered 
bogus  ones  to  that  girl,  then  Braden  was  in  a  devil  of  a 
mess.  And  Braden  thought  he  had  them. 

"I'll  take  a  chance  on  that,"  he  replied. 

But  Mr.  Braden,  since  the  loss  of  the  deeds,  had  been 
busy  mentally  constructing  a  bomb-proof  defense,  and 
this  had  taken  very  nearly  the  form  anticipated  by  Judge 
Riley. 

"Then  you  won't  get  a  nickel  out  of  it,"  he  told  Gar- 
land. "They  might  make  a  certain  amount  of  trouble, 
but  that's  all.  I'm  not  going  to  be  held  up.  You  think 
because  you  stole  that  old  note  and  statement  of  yours 
when  you  took  the  deeds  that  I've  no  strings  on  you? 
Well,  you  try  anything  and  see." 

Garland  in  his  surprise  nearly  exposed  his  hand.  Here 
was  a  rotten  complication,  which  gave  him  a  very  live 
interest  in  the  affair.  While  evidence  of  his  old  trans- 


GARLAND   PLAYS  A  HAND  349 

gression  was  in  Braden's  hands  he  had  been  sure  it  would 
not  be  used.  But  now  somebody  else  had  it.  Who  would 
have  an  interest  in  taking  it,  as  well  as  deeds  affecting 
the  coal  lands?  Obviously  Mackay,  who  would  like 
nothing  better  than  to  get  something  on  him. 

The  position,  then,  in  Garland's  mind  was  that  Angus 
Mackay  had  evidence  which  proved  his  wife's  title  to  the 
coal  lands.  But  Braden  thought  that  he,  Garland,  had 
it.  Mackay,  also,  had  evidence  of  his,  Garland's  old 
forgery.  He  must  get  that  back.  As  to  Braden's  mis- 
apprehension he  must  turn  that  to  his  own  advantage. 
Braden,  in  his  opinion,  was  simply  bluffing  as  to  the 
nonimportance  of  the  deeds.  If  he  could  get  hold  of 
them  he  could  hold  Braden  up.  Also  he  would  knock 
Mackay  out  of  a  very  promising  property.  But  he  must 
lose  no  time.  It  was  a  wonder  Mackay  had  not  taken 
some  action  already. 

"Keep  your  shirt  on,"  he  advised  Braden.  "Don't 
try  to  bluff  me.  You  know  if  Mackay  got  hold  of  those 
papers  it  would  raise  the  devil  with  you.  They  show 
who  really  owns  the  property." 

"They  are  a  mistake,"  Mr.  Braden  returned.  "I 
mean  they  were  drawn  by  mistake.  French  gave  the 
girl  her  deeds." 

Garland  grinned.  "Suppose  he  had  given  her  the 
others,  where  would  you  be  ?" 

"Suppose  nothing  of  the  sort!"  Mr.  Braden  snapped. 
"I  tell  you  they're  no  good.  You  might  as  well  give 
them  back  to  me." 

"What  do  you  want  them  for — if  they're  no  good?" 
Garland  grinned. 

"I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  for  them." 

Garland  merely  laughed,  and  though  Mr.  Braden 
increased  his  offer  to  five  hundred  it  was  not  accepted. 


350        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

He  was  reluctant  to  go  higher,  first,  because  it  would 
show  Garland  that  he  considered  the  deeds  worth  real 
money;  and  second,  because  Garland  did  not  seem  anx- 
ious to  press  his  blackmail.  The  latter  circumstance 
puzzled  Mr.  Braden.  What  was  Garland  up  to,  any- 
way? He  did  not  threaten  to  deal  with  Mackay,  after 
that  single  reference  to  him.  Mr.  Braden  knew  that  he 
hated  Angus,  and  preferably  would  not  deal  with  him. 
And  so  it  was  his  own  play  to  wait  and  let  the  next 
suggestion  come  from  Garland.  There,  temporarily, 
the  matter  rested,  because  neither  was  in  a  position  to 
press  it  to  a  finish. 

But  Mr.  Braden,  though  he  had  what  so  far  as  he 
could  see  was  a  perfectly  good  legal  defense,  experienced 
certain  inward  qualms.  There  was  always  the  possibil- 
ity that  something  might  go  wrong  with  a  defense,  if  it 
came  to  that.  That  old  Riley,  for  instance,  who  looked 
like  a  scarred  Airedale,  would  enjoy  baiting  him.  He 
might  find  some  flaw,  some  kink  of  law,  which  might 
be  embarrassing.  Mr.  Braden  knew  that  his  nerve  was 
not  of  the  sort  to  stand  a  grueling  by  skilled  counsel, 
.especially  if  he  slipped  once  or  twice.  His  would  be 
almost  the  sole  evidence.  There  was  comfort  in  that, 
but  there  was  also  responsibility. 

Looking  into  the  future  Mr.  Braden  foresaw  the 
possibility  of  a  situation  in  which  the  possession  of 
actual  cash  would  be  very  convenient  if  not  necessary. 
He  might  have  to  pay  Garland  a  lump  sum.  Or,  if  he 
refused  to  do  so  and  Garland  made  a  deal  with  Mackay, 
he  might  have  to  stand  a  trial.  It  might  be  a  mere 
civil  action  to  establish  the  validity  of  the  missing  deeds ; 
of  it  might  be  a  charge  of  forgery.  In  any  event  it 
would  give  him  most  undesirable  publicity.  His  affairs 
were  very  badly  involved,  and  it  would  then  be  very 


GARLAND  PLAYS  A  HAND  35 1 

hard  to  raise  money.  If  all  went  well,  the  coal  would 
pull  him  out  of  the  financial  hole  he  was  in,  and  put 
him  on  his  feet  again.  But  meantime  it  would  be  pru- 
dent to  get  together  as  much  cash  as  he  could.  And 
so,  very  quietly,  he  set  about  accumulating  as  much  cur- 
rency as  possible,  and  as  he  obtained  it  he  placed  it  in 
his  office  safe,  having  now  no  confidence  in  his  private 
one.  He  regarded  it  as  accident  insurance. 

Meanwhile,  Garland  was  making  arrangements  of 
his  own.  The  job  of  obtaining  anything  from  Angus 
Mackay  was  not  going  to  be  easy,  and  reluctantly  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  too  big  to  be  tackled  single- 
handed.  Assistance  meant  sharing  the  profits,  but  un- 
fortunately it  seemed  to  be  a  case.  He  thought  of 
Poole,  and  would  have  preferred  him,  but  Mr.  Poole 
packed  no  sand  whatever.  Finally  he  decided  on  Blake 
French.  Not  that  Blake  had  any  too  much  courage, 
but  he  hated  Mackay,  and  having  rapped  him  on  the 
head  once,  he  might  be  counted  on  to  do  it  again  if  neces- 
sary. Poole  might  be  used  for  a  scout,  without  telling 
him  a  great  deal. 

Blake  French  fell  in  with  Garland's  proposals  with 
alacrity.  He  had  had  trouble  with  his  brothers  since  his 
father's  death,  culminating  in  a  short  but  vicious  battle 
with  Larry,  in  which  the  latter  had  got  the  best  of  it. 
He  suspected  his  brothers  of  having  funds  which  they 
refused  to  share  with  him.  He  himself  was  flat  broke, 
without  money  to  pay  for  his  numerous  drinks.  His 
brothers  treated  him  as  an  outsider.  He  was  sure  they 
were  holding  out  on  him.  If  he  could  get  a  share  in 
that  coal  proposition  he  would  have  the  laugh  on  them; 
also  it  would  be  a  chance  to  get  square  with  Mackay. 
And  so  he  and  Garland  began  to  lay  plans  looking  to 
the  acquisition  of  the  missing  deeds.  The  matter  seemed 


352         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

simplified  for  them  by  the  circumstance  that  Angus 
Mackay  and  his  bride  were  now  living,  temporarily  at 
least,  in  her  cottage  on  the  dry  ranch.  This  strengthened 
the  hypothesis  that  Mackay  had  the  deeds  and  was 
living  close  to  the  coal  prospect  in  order  to  keep  his 
eye  on  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE  TURNING  OF  THE  SCREW 

IF  Mr.  Braden  had  been  puzzled  by  Garland's  conduct 
in  the  first  instance,  he  became  more  so.     Garland 

made  him  no  proposition.  The  thought  that  the  latter 
might  be  dickering  with  the  French  boys  crossed  Mr. 
Braden's  mind,  but  was  open  to  the  objection  that  he 
would  have  to  share  blackmail  with  them.  On  the  whole, 
Mr.  Braden  concluded  that  he  had  bluffed  Garland. 
After  a  while  the  latter  would  part  with  the  document 
cheaply. 

Hence,  when  he  received  a  visit  from  Judge  Riley  one 
day  about  the  close  of  business  hours,  he  was  very  little 
perturbed.  Mackay  perhaps  had  taken  legal  advice  on 
his  supposed  right,  or  the  judge  might  have  come  on 
other  business.  But  the  lawyer's  first  words  cleared  up 
that  point. 

"I  am  here,"  he  said,  "on  behalf  of  my  client,  Mrs. 
Mackay.  You  are  aware  that  she  claims  ownership  of 
the  land  on  which  coal  has  been  found?" 

"Her  claim  is  nonsense,"  Mr.  Braden  asserted  stoutly. 

"That's  just  what  I  am  trying  to  clear  up.  As  a  result 
of  what  French  told  her  she  always  supposed  she  owned 
the  land." 

"I'm  not  responsible  for  what  French  told  her.  I'm 
getting  tired  of  this  absurd  claim  of  hers.  Her  land  is 
described  in  her  deeds.  That's  her  evidence  of  title. 
You  ought  to  know  that." 

"Yes,  I  know  that,"  the  judge  admitted  mildly.  "As 
it  happensx  she  is  now  able  to  produce  a  deed  from  you 
to  her  father  conveying  the  land  in  question." 

353 


354         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

It  was  so  entirely  unexpected  that  Mr.  Braden's  heart 
decidedly  misbehaved.  How  in  the  name  of  all  bad  luck 
had  this  happened?  Had  Garland,  after  all,  made  a 
dicker  with  Mackay?  Had  Mackay  got  those  infernal 
deeds?  Or  had  he  merely  a  suspicion,  which  Riley  was 
trying  to  confirm  by  a  fishing  trip  for  a  damaging  admis- 
sion? 

"Nonsense!"  he  said. 

"Oh,  no,"  the  judge  replied  cheerfully.  "To  be  quite 
frank  with  you,  our  position  is  this:  French,  shortly 
before  his  death,  delivered  to  his  niece  a  conveyance  in 
duplicate  from  you  to  her  father  purporting  to  convey 
certain  lands  therein  described.  This  land  lies  imme- 
diately east  of  the  coal  lands,  but  does  not  include  them. 
We  claim  that  this  latter  conveyance  is  the  true  and 
original  one." 

"Where  did  you  get  it?"  Mr.  Braden  demanded. 

"Suppose  French,  feeling  his  end  approaching,  gave 
it  to  his  niece?" 

"He — "  Mr.  Braden  began  and  checked  himself 
suddenly.  Riley  was  laying  verbal  traps  for  him.  He 
must  be  careful.  "If  you  have  this  conveyance,  let  me 
see  it." 

"You  will  see  it  at  the  proper  time." 

"You  mean  that  you  haven't  got  it,"  Mr.  Braden 
charged. 

The  judge  smiled.  "You  think  I  am  trying  to  trap 
you  into  an  admission.  Nothing  of  the  sort.  I  said 
we  could  produce  the  documents.  The  only  difference 
between  them  and  the  others  is  the  description  of  the 
property.  Same  date,  same  witness.  It's  useless  to  deny 
the  existence  of  documents  which  I  myself  have  seen." 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  judge  was  telling  the 
truth.  So  Garland  had  sold  out  to  Mackay.  Mr.  Bra- 


THE  TURNING  OF  THE  SCREW       355 

den's  front  trenches  were  carried,  but  he  believed  his 
second  line  to  be  impregnable. 

"I'm  not  denying  its  existence.  I  know  all  about  the 
thing,  including  the  fact  that  it  was  stolen  from  me." 

"The  main  thing  is  that  it  exists." 

"It  exists,  but  it  is  worthless." 

"My  clients  consider  it  rather  valuable." 

"I  suppose  they  paid  for  it,  but  they've  been  stung. 
When  I  sold  that  land  to  Winton,  a  clerk  in  my  office 
prepared  the  deeds  and  got  the  description  wrong. 
When  I  discovered  the  error  I  had  new  deeds  prepared 
and  executed,  and  they  are  what  I  suppose  French  gave 
to  Winton's  daughter.  I  supposed  he  had  given  them  to 
Winton  long  ago.  So  there  you  are !  You've  found  a 
mare's  nest,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

Judge  Riley  chuckled  internally,  though  his  face  was 
grave.  Braden  was  doing  the  obvious. 

"Don't  you  compare  conveyances  before  execution  in 
your  office?" 

"Of  course  I  do.  But  in  this  case  the  error  was  in 
the  description  which  the  clerk  prepared  and  gave  to  the 
stenographer  to  copy.  She  copied  it,  and  it  was  com- 
pared with  what  had  been  given  her." 

"Then  who  discovered  the  error?" 

"I  did.  It  struck  me  that  the  description  was  not 
correct." 

"After  you  had  signed  it  and  French  had  witnessed 
it?" 

"Y — yes."    There  was  hesitation  in  his  voice. 

"Don't  you  read  things  over  before  you  sign  and  have 
your  signature  witnessed?  Why  didn't  it  strike  you 
then?" 

"You  aren't  cross-examining  mel"  Mr.  Braden 
asserted. 


356         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  just  trying  to  understand  a  situa- 
tion which  is  rather  extraordinary.  Then,  as  I  under- 
stand it,  you  had  a  new  conveyance  prepared,  and  deliv- 
ered it  to  French,  and  that's  all  you  know  about  it?" 

"That's  all,"  Mr.  Braden  confirmed. 

"Why  didn't  you  destroy  the  other  one?" 

"I  suppose  I  overlooked  it.  The  papers  got  among 
others." 

"And  into  your  private  safe." 

"Yes.     And  they  were  stolen  from  it." 

"But  then  you  say  they're  worthless.  You  say  that 
the  two  sets  of  papers  were  drawn  on  the  same  day? 
The  second  wasn't  prepared  subsequently  and  dated 
back?" 

Mr.  Braden  hesitated,  trying  to  read  the  purpose 
behind  the  question.  He  was  again  beginning  to  distrust 
Riley,  who  undoubtedly  resembled  an  Airedale. 

"I'm  almost  sure  it  was  the  same  day.  It  may  have 
been  the  next." 

"But  at  all  events  within,  say,  forty-eight  hours?" 

"Yes." 

"Perhaps  your  stenographer  might  remember?  Or 
your  clerk?" 

"That  clerk  is  dead,"  said  Mr.  Braden  without  notice- 
able regret.  "My  stenographer  might  or  might  not 
remember.  But  she  could  identify  the  papers  as  being 
written  about  the  same  time  on  the  same  machine." 

"How?" 

"Because  I  had  only  one  machine  in  my  office  at  that 
time,  and  that  had  certain  peculiarities  of  type.  I 
scrapped  it  soon  after  that,  and  got  a  new  one.  If 
you'll  compare  the  deeds,  you'll  see  they  must  have  been 
written  on  the  same  machine." 

"A  very   fair  point,"   the  judge   admitted  blandly. 


THE  TURNING  OF  THE  SCREW  '     357 

"You  have  an  excellent  memory  for  details.  But  even 
if  you  establish  that  they  were  written  on  the  same 
machine,  it  would  not  prove  that  they  were  writ- 
ten on  the  same  day.  For  that  you  would  have  to 
depend  on  your  evidence  and  that  of  your  stenographer." 

"I  don't  have  to  prove  when  they  were  written,"  Mr. 
Braden  stated.  "The  date  of  an  instrument  is  prima 
facie  evidence.  I  know  a  little  law  myself,  Riley." 

"A  little  law  is  a  very  dangerous  thing  to  know,"  the 
judge  commented. 

"And  I'm  not  going  to  be  cross-examined  by  you," 
Mr.  Braden  declared.  "If  you  contend  that  those  deeds 
were  made  at  different  times  it's  up  to  you  to  prove  it. 
Can  you  do  that,  hey?" 

"Yes,"  the  judge  replied.     "Absolutely!" 

Mr.  Braden  almost  jumped,  and  his  heart  again  mis- 
behaved. 

"H-how?"  he  asked  in  a  voice  which  shook  slightly. 

"In  this  way,"  the  judge  replied:  "The  conveyance- 
delivered  by  French  to  his  niece  and  dated  some  seven 
years  ago,  is  on  paper  bearing  the  watermark  of  a  firm 
which  did  not  exist,  much  less  manufacture  a  single  sheet 
of  paper,  until  two  years  ago!" 

It  was  a  terrrble  blow,  direct,  unexpected,  smashing 
through  Mr.  Braden's  elaborate  system  of  defense.  It 
produced  the  shattering,  shocking  effect  of  high  explo- 
sive. For  a  moment  he  was  speechless.  He  rallied 
feebly. 

"It's — it's  a  lie !"  he  stammered.  "They  were  written 
on  the  same  legal  forms,  printed  by  the  same  firm." 

"On  the  same  legal  forms,"  the  judge  conceded.  "But 
law  stationers  as  a  rule  don't  manufacture  their  own 
paper."  His  face  became  grim,  his  voice  rose,  and  he 
drove  his  accusation  home  as  in  the  old  days  of  his 


358          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

greater  prosperity  he  had  broken  other  carefully  pre- 
pared testimony. 

"That  one  detail,  Braden,  overlooked  by  you  and 
French,  destroys  entirely  the  plausible  story  you  have 
invented.  I  am  prepared  to  prove,  and  prove  to  the 
hilt,  that  the  deeds  delivered  by  French  to  my  client  are 
forgeries,  prepared  by  you  both  to  defraud  a  young 
woman  of  land  which,  instead  of  being  worthless  as  you 
supposed  it  to  be  when  you  sold  it  to  her  father  in  fraud- 
ulent collusion  with  French,  you  suddenly  discovered  to 
have  a  high  potential  value.  I  say  I  am  prepared  to 
prove  this,  including  the  writing  of  the  forged  instru- 
ments on  the  same  machine.  I  am  prepared  to  prove, 
too,  how  the  original  deeds  passed  from  French's  pos- 
session to  yours.  You  are  in  danger  of  standing  in  the 
dock  facing  a  charge  which  carries  a  very  heavy  penalty. 
You  must  decide  here  and  now,  whether  or  not  you  will 
face  that  charge,  and  the  damning  evidence  which  I  am 
prepared  to  bring  against  you." 

Mr.  Braden  quailed  before  the  stern  voice  and  men- 
acing finger  of  the  old  lawyer.  He  was  not  of  the  stuff 
to  fight  up  hill,  to  play  out  a  losing  game  to  the  last  chip. 
What  was  the  use?  The  judge  had  the  goods  on  him. 
He  sagged  in  his  chair,  all  fight  gone,  his  face  white,  his 
heart  choking  him. 

"Don' — don't  prosecute  me,  Riley!"  he  pleaded  in  a 
shaking  voice.  "I'll  do  anything  you  say.  What  do 
you  want?" 


CHAPTER  XL 

SIGNS   AND   OMENS 

THE  reason  of  the  temporary  residence  of  Angus 
and  his  wife  at  her  cottage  lay  principally  in  her 
whim.  Angus  laughed  at  it,  but  yielded,  and 
found  it  rather  pleasant  to  be  alone  with  his  wife.  From 
force  of  habit  he  found  a  number  of  jobs  which  needed 
doing,  things  which  should  be  put  in  order  before  the 
winter;  but  Faith  insisted  that  it  was  to  be  a  holiday. 
And  so  by  day  they  r.ode  leisurely  along  the  base  of 
the  hills,  rested  at  noon  beside  clear  springs,  ate  with 
healthy  appetites,  and  in  the  evenings  returned  to  the 
cottage.  Then  there  would  be  the  cheery  open  fire 
against  the  chill  of  the  fall  night,  and  by  its  flickering 
light  the  banjo  would  talk  and  whimper,  and  chuckle, 
until  Faith,  laying  it  aside,  would  snuggle  against  her 
husband,  watching  the  red  heart  of  the  fire,  giving  free 
rein  to  fancy. 

So,  she  thought  and  said,  men  and  women  had  sat  in 
the  dim,  forgotten  nights  of  the  world,  when  the  Red 
Flower  first  bloomed  on  the  rude  hearts  of  cave  and 
forest  and  beside  the  lone  beaches  of  dead  seas.  Angus 
laughed  at  her  fancies,  but  in  his  own  heart  the  spell 
of  gut  and  string  and  fire  stirred  something,  too;  and 
when  the  winds  soughed  around  the  cottage  and  strained 
through  the  tree-tops  he  found  himself  listening  subcon- 
sciously for  he  knew  not  what. 

"You  are  a  dreamer,  too,"  Faith  accused  him. 

"I  will  be  in  about  ten  minutes." 

"You  might  as  well  'fess  up.  I  wonder  if  you  and  I 
ever  sat  before  a  fire  in  a  cave,  together?" 

"I  don't  remember  it,  myself." 

359 


360         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

uOh,  you  may  laugh,  but  it  seems  real  to  me — 
to-night.  The  wind  in  the  trees  is  like  the  hiss  and  roar 
of  squall-swept  seas.  I  can  hear  other  things,  too — the 
soft  padding  of  feet,  and  heavy,  grunting,  snuffling 
breaths.  That  is  the  tiger  or  the  great  cave  bear.  But 
they  can't  get  in,  because  you  have  rolled  the  stone 
against  the  mouth  of  our  cave." 

"Suppose  I  forgot  it?" 

"Then  to  pay  for  your  carelessness,  you  would  have 
to  fight  old  Sabre  Tooth.  You  would  fight  to  the  death 
for  me,  wouldn't  you  ?M 

"And  for  myself." 

"Be  gallant,  please." 

"Cave  men  weren't  gallant.  They  walloped  ladies 
with  clubs  and  abducted  them." 

"Happy  thought.  You  have  abducted  me.  No,  not 
that,  either,  because  I  was  never  anybody's  but  yours. 
But  there  is  a  very  great  warrior  who  is  trying  to  take 
me  from  you." 

"The  old  warrior  sure  has  some  nerve.  What  am  I 
doing  about  that  time?" 

"You  fight,"  she  told  him,  her  eyes  on  the  heart  of  the 
fire,  "while  I  stand  by  praying  to  the  unknown  God  that 
you  may  kill  him.  And  you  do  kill  him.  And  then  you 
set  your  foot  on  his  body  and  shake  your  war  club  on 
high  and  shout  a  great  wild  song  to  the  stars.  Oh,  I 
can  see  you  now !  There  is  blood  on  your  face,  and  the 
club  is  dripping  with  it,  and  I  can  hear  the  fierce  song !" 

"I'll  bet  the  si-nging  is  fierce,  too,".  Angus  commented 
But  to  his  surprise  she  was  trembling  in  his  arms,  every 
nerve  aquiver.  "What  the  dickens!  Old  girl,  you're 
shaking!  There  now,  that's  plenty  of  that  nonsense. 
It  isn't  good  for  sleeping." 

For  a  moment  she  clung  to  him.     "I'm  awfully  silly. 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  361 

But  somehow  it  seemed  real — to-night.  I  wonder  if  it 
ever  did  happen  ?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Well,  it's  funny.  I  was  just  making  it  up.  And 
then  suddenly  I  felt  that  instead  of  making  it  up  I  was 
recollecting." 

As  she  paused,  Angus'  ear  caught  a  faint  sound  from 
without.  To  him  it  resembled  the  faint  creak  of  a 
board  beneath  a  stealthy  footstep.  For  an  instant  his 
body  tensed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  Faith  asked.  "Have  you 
nerves,  too?" 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  Turn  in  now  and  get  a  good 
rest,  and  don't  dream  of  things." 

Bnt  when  she  had  gone  to  her  room  he  yawned, 
stretched  himself,  wound  the  clock  and  passed  into  the 
hall  leading  to  the  kitchen.  There  hung  his  belt  with 
holster  and  gun.  He  took  the  gun,  went  swiftly  through 
the  kitchen  and  outside.  He  circled  the  house,  but 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything,  and  so  he  went  in  again. 
But  when  he  turned  in,  having  extinguished  the  light, 
he  laid  the  gun  on  the  floor  beside  the  bed,  and  in  the 
morning  smuggled  it  out  without  Faith's  knowledge. 
Before  she  had  risen  he  examined  the  ground  around  the 
house,  but  found  no  footprints  other  than  their  own. 
And  so  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  whatever  he  had 
heard  had  not  been  a  footstep. 

He  pottered  around  all  morning,  and  in  the  after- 
noon decided  to  ride  in  to  town  and  see  Judge  Riley. 
The  latter  might  have  some  news. 

"Well,  I  won't  go,"  Faith  decided.  "I  have  bread 
to  bake,  and  it's  too  far,  anyway.  I'll  have  supper 
ready  when  you  get  back." 

But  when  Angus  reached  the  judge's  office  it  was 


362         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

closed.  In  the  post  office  he  found  a  note  from  him, 
consisting  of  four  words:  "Want  to  see  you,"  and  upon 
inquiry  he  learned  that  the  lawyer  had  driven  out  with 
Dr.  Wilkes  to  see  a  rancher  named  McLatchie  who 
being  taken  suddenly  Ml  had  sent  for  legal  as  well  as 
medical  assistance.  Angus  decided  to  wait.  As  he 
strolled  down  the  street  he  met  Rennie  emerging  from 
Dr.  Wilkes'  office. 

"Hello,"  he  said.    "What's  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Nothing  with  me,"  Rennie  returned.  "I  was  just 
doin'  an  errand.  But  they  tell  me  the  doc's  out." 

"What  is  it?"  Angus  asked,  for  Rennie's  face  was 
troubled. 

"You  ain't  heard?  Well,  Mary,  that  granddaughter 
of  old  Paul  Sam,  has  been  missin'  some  days,  and  to-day 
they  find  her — drowned." 

"Good  Lord!"  Angus  exclaimed.  "How  did  it  hap- 
pen?" Rennie's  face  darkened. 

"I  dunno.  They  say  she  drowned  herself.  They  say 
some  white  man  is  mixed  up  in  it.  She  was  a  notch  or 
two  above  the  ordinary  klootch,  and  so — oh,  well,  it's 
just  the  same  old  rotten  mess!" 

"Poor  girl!"  Angus  said  after  a  moment  of  silence. 
"This  will  be  hard  on  old  Paul  Sam.  Do  the  Indians 
know  this  white  man?" 

"I  dunno.  I  heard — mind  you  I  dunno  what  there 
is  in  it — that  Blake  French  is  the  man.  He's  dirty 
enough.  But  I  dunno  5s  the  Injuns  know  it.  I  seen  old 
Paul  Sam.  He  wasn't  talkin'.  Just  sittin'  starin' 
straight  ahead.  And  the  klootch  lyin'  on  her  bed  along- 
side him  where  they'd  put  her  down.  Ugh!  Some  of 
'em  wanted  to  send  the  doc  out.  He  makes  reports  of 
deaths  and  such  to  the  government,  and  then  he's  cor- 
oner. So  I  come." 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  363 

The  event  touched  Angus  deeply.  He  had  known 
the  dead  girl  all  his  life.  She  was,  as  Rennie*  said,  a 
notch  or  two  above  the  ordinary  klootch.  Paul  Sam, 
too,  was  a  good  Indian,  a  friend  of  his  and  of  his 
father's,  so  far  as  the  white  man  who  knows  the  Indian 
admits  him  to  friendship.  It  would  be  a  heavy  blow 
for  the  old  man.  But  unless  some  of  the  young  bucks 
took  the  law  into  their  own  hands  it  was  unlikely  that 
the  man  responsible  for  the  tragedy — Blake  French  or 
another — would  suffer  at  aH. 

It  was  long  after  dark  when  the  judge  drove  in,  and 
Angus  waiting  at  the  livery  stable,  greeted  him. 

"How's  McLatchie  ?"  he  asked.  The  judge,  with 
emphasis,  consigned  McLatchie  to  torment. 

"A  bellyache!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  he  thought  he 
was  going  to  die.  I  wanted  Wilkes  to  cut  him  open, 
just  as  a  lesson.  And  will  you  believe  me,  the  damned 
Scotch — I  beg  your  pardon,  Angus,  I  mean  the  damned 
lowlander — when  the  fear  of  God  produced  by  the  fear 
of  death  left  his  rotten  heart  with  the  pain  from  his 
equally  rotten  stomach,  refused  to  make  his  will.  I 
made  him  do  it,  though — and  pay  for  it.  Well,  you  got 
my  note.  Come  up  to  the  office,  where  we  can  talk." 

But  when  he  had  lit  a  couple  of  lamps  which  illumi- 
nated his  office  and  turned  to  his  desk  he  stopped  short. 

"Somebody's  been  in  here,"  he  said.  "Things  are 
not  as  I  left  them."  He  drew  out  the  drawers  of  his 
desk.  "Aha  I"  he  exclaimed,  for  the  papers  they  held 
had  evidently  been  taken  out  and  jammed  back  in  dis- 
order. "Now  what  misguided  idiot  thought  a  law 
office  worth  robbing?  I  wonder,  now —  By  the  Lord ! 
but  I  believe  that's  it !" 

"What?" 

"Why  somebody's  been  after  your  documents,"  the 


364         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

judge  replied.  "Oho,  Braden,  me  buck!  You  must 
think  I'm  a  fool!" 

"You  mean  you  think  Braden  was  trying  to  get  back 
the  original  deeds?" 

"And  something  else.  It's  a  poor  tribute  he  pays  to 
my  intelligence,  thinking  I'd  leave  such  papers  lying  at 
the  mercy  of  a  flimsy  door  lock.  People  think  I  am 
careless,  old-fashioned,  because  they  can't  see  a  safe  in 
my  office.  Well,  anybody  can  blow  a  safe — if  the  safe 
can  be  found.  I  had  one  blown  once,  and  it  was  nearly 
the  ruin  of  me.  But  look  here!"  A  section  of  wain- 
scoting swung  out  under  his  hand,  revealing  the  face  of 
a  steel  safe.  "No  local  man  had  anything  to  do  with 
installing  this,"  the  judge  said;  "and  back  of  it  is  a  false 
wall  to  my  inner  room."  He  spun  the  combination  and 
threw  the  door  open.  Taking  out  a  thick  envelope  he 
drew  from  it  a  single  sheet  of  paper  which  he  handed 
to  Angus. 

Angus  read  in  amazement.  It  was  a  brief  statement 
signed  by  Braden  acknowledging  forgery  by  French  and 
himself,  and  an  acknowledgment  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  original  deeds. 

"How  on  earth  did  you  get  this?"  he  asked. 

The  judge  told  him. 

"Well,  that  was  mighty  clever  of  you,"  Angus  said 
in  admiration.  "I'd  never  have  thought  of  that." 

"Braden  didn't  either,"  the  judge  said  drily.  "And 
what's  more  he  never  thought  that  my  statement  about 
the  watermark  might  be  worth  verifying." 

"Do  you  mean  you  bluffed  him?"  Angus  exclaimed. 

"It  was  the  only  way,"  the  judge  nodded.  "His 
story,  stuck  to  through  thick  and  thin,  would  have  pre- 
vailed because  we  had  no  evidence  to  contradict  it.  But 
being  guilty,  it  never  occurred  to  him  to  demand  an 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  365 

inspection  of  the  papers.  It  may  have  occurred  to  him 
now.  He  may  have  searched  my  office  in  my  absence, 
hoping  to  get  back  his  confession  as  well  as  the  deeds. 
But  most  of  us  realize  our  mistakes  too  late." 

"Judge"  Angus  said  solemnly,  "you  are  a  wonder." 

"When  I  was  your  age  I  would  have  agreed  with 
that,"  the  judge  grinned.  "But  I  am  merely  an  old  dog 
with  some  experience  of  foxes.  This  settles  Braden's 
hash.  He  will  leave  town — and  possibly  leave  some 
creditors." 

"I  thought  he  had  plenty  of  money." 

"He  has  lost  a  good  deal  lately  in  speculation — lost 
it  or  tied  it  up.  I  imagine  he  will  get  together  what 
cash  he  can  and  leave.  His  debts  are  none  of  my  busi- 
ness. I  will  now  have  these  deeds  registered,  and  you 
will  have  no  more  trouble  about  title." 

"When  you  send  me  your  bill,  put  in  the  watermark." 

"My  bill  will  have  a  sufficiently  high  watermark  to  suit 
you,"  the  judge  chuckled.  "And  now,  young  man,  I'm 
too  old  to  be  modest.  Naturally  you  will  incorporate, 
sooner  or  later,  to  work  this  property  to  advantage.  I 
want  to  incorporate  you,  and  I  want  such  of  the  com- 
pany's legal  work  as  I  am  competent  to  handle." 

"That's  all  of  it." 

"I  meant  that,"  the  judge  admitted.  "And  if  I  were 
permitted  to  buy  a  block  of  stock  on  as  good  terms  as 
aaiybody  I  would  take  it." 

"That  goes,  of  course,"  Angus  agreed,  "and  it  doesn't 
by  any  means  cancel  our  obligation  to  you.  And  now 
I  must  be  drifting.  My  wife  is  alone,  and  I  was  to  have 
been  back  by  supper." 

"You'll  have  a  dark  ride." 

"My  horse  has  good  feet.  Good  night,  judge,  and 
thank  you  again." 


366         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

The  wind  struck  Angus  hard  as  he  left  the  office.  It 
was  blowing  great  guns,  and  as  the  judge  had  said,  it 
was  very  dark.  When  he  left  the  lights  behind  it  was 
better  as  his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  darkness. 
But  ragged  clouds  hung  low,  and  the  mountains  usually 
visible  against  even  the  sky  of  night  could  not  be  seen. 
The  wind  was  roaring  through  the  tops  of  the  firs  with 
a  sound  of  running  waves.  But  the  road  was  good, 
and  when  Chief  of  his  own  notion  struck  into  a  long, 
trail-devouring  lope,  he  did  not  check  him. 

He  was  suddenly  anxious  to  get  back  to  Faith.  He 
wished  to  tell  her  the  good  news,  but  that  did  not  account 
for  the  uneasy  feeling  that  possessed  him,  tugging  at 
his  ordinarily  steady  nerves.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  for  it;  yet  it  persisted  and  even  increased.  He 
realized  with  disgust  that  he  was  nervous.  Something 
seemed  to  impend.  The  roar  of  the  wind  was  sinister, 
minatory.  The  darkness  seemed  to  hover  above  like  a 
bird  of  prey,  ready  to  strike.  He  swore  angrily  at  him- 
self for  such  fancies. 

"I've  got  the  nerves  of  a  squirrel  to-night,"  he  mut- 
tered. "I'll  be  seeing  things  next.  Go  on,  Chief,  old 
boy !  Leak  out  of  here !" 

With  the  touch  of  his  feel  the  big  chestnut  settled  to 
the  business  of  covering  ground.  The  wind  increased, 
and  with  it  came  rain,  huge  drops  driving  like  buckshot, 
stinging  as  they  hit.  Somewhere  off  the  road  a  tree 
snapped  and  crashed  down. 

"Timber!"  Angus  shouted  to  the  darkness,  for  the 
storm  and  the  pace  were  getting  into  his  blood,  and 
with  their  entry  his  nervousness  was  replaced  by  a  feel- 
ing of  exhiliration.  Then  the  chestnut  hose  m  a  clean, 
sailing  jump,  and  Angus  realized  that  he  had  cleared  a 
fallen  tree.  But  he  did  not  slacken  speed. 


SIGNS  AND  OMENS  367 

They  were  off  the  main  road  now,  on  the  less  used  trail, 
and  the  ranch  was  little  over  a  mile  distant.  Angus 
could  picture  Faith  waiting,  wondering  what  had  de- 
tained him,  perhaps  a  little  anxious  because  of  the  storm. 
She  would  laugh  when  he  told  her  that  he  had  suffered 
from  nerves.  She — 

Chief  snorted,  leaped,  and  something  caught  Angus 
across  the  chest.  For  a  moment  it  yielded,  tautened  and 
snapped  back,  tearing  his  tight  grip  loose.  At  the 
pace  he  was  riding  it  plucked  him  from  the  saddle  as  a 
hawk  lifts  a  chick  from  the  brood,  flinging  him  back- 
ward to  the  earth.  He  struck  it  heavily  on  his  shoulders 
and  the  back  of  his  head.  He  had  a  dim  impression  of 
somebody  or  something  leaping  on  him,  of  a  blow,  and 
then  darkness  shut  down  absolutely. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

TERROR 

TOWARD   five   o'clock,   her  bread  being  baked, 
Faith  put  in  the  oven  a  pan  containing  two  young 
mallards  and  a  blue  grouse,  all  overlaid  with  strips 
of  bacon.     She  made  her  vegetables  ready  and  set  the 
table.     Now  and  then  she  glanced  from  the  window 
expectantly,  but  saw  nothing  of  Angus.     When  dusk 
came  she  lighted  the  lamps. 

Finally  she  ate  her  own  supper  alone,  slightly  an- 
noyed. Angus  had  promised  to  be  back  in  time.  Some- 
thing must  have  detained  him.  She  put  his  meal  in  the 
warming  oven,  sat  down  and  tried  to  read.  But  some- 
how the  book  failed  to  interest.  She  had  recourse  to  the 
banjo,  but  that  little  sister  of  the  lonesome  failed  of 
charm.  The  wind  rose  until  it  was  blowing  a  gale. 
Once  she  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  The  dark- 
ness seemed  intense. 

Ten  o'clock  came.  What  on  earth  was  keeping 
Angus?  She  began  to  worry,  which  she  told  herself 
was  absurd.  Resolutely  she  sat  down  and  picked  up  a 
book.  She  would  not  allow  herself  to  be  stampeded  by 
nerves.  She  made  up  her  mind  to  sit  on  that  couch 
before  the  fire  until  her  husband  returned. 

She  found  it  hard  to  keep  this  resolution.  She  craved 
movement.  She  wanted  a  drink,  an  apple,  a  different 
book — anything,  to  get  up  and  move  around.  But  she 
resisted  these  assaults  on  her  will. 

Her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  foolery  of  the  preceding 
night.  She  had  pretended  to  be  a  cave  woman  with  her 

368 


TERROR  369 

man.  Now  she  was  alone.  What  happened  to  those 
ancient  women  whose  men  went  out  never  to  return? 
How  long  did  they  feed  the  fire  o'  nights,  and  listen 
alone  to  the  noises  of  the  dark?  The  fancy  proved 
more  attractive  than  the  book.  She  leaned  back  com- 
fortably, enjoying  the  play  of  her  imagination,  construct- 
ing the  life  story  of  an  unknown  sister  in  the  dawn  of 
the  world  and  presently,  in  proof  that  there  was  nothing 
seriously  wrong  with  her  nerves,  she  fell  asleep  before 
the  fire. 

She  woke  with  a  start.  There  were  footsteps  in  the 
house.  Angus,  then,  had  come  back.  She  smiled,  con- 
tented. She  would  scold  him — in  fun.  But  as  she 
listened  the  footsteps  seemed  to  differ  from  his  firm, 
light  tread.  The  handle  of  the  door  turned  and  a  man 
who  was  not  Angus  stood  framed  in  the  opening — a  man, 
who  wore  a  handkerchief  across  his  face,  whose  eyes, 
invisible  beneath  the  shadow  of  a  broad  hatbrim,  peered 
at  her  through  holes  cut  in  the  fabric. 

Though  a  horrible,  sinking  feeling  of  nervousness 
assailed  her,  she  did  not  cry  out.  She  regarded  the 
intruder  in  silence.  As  he  came  into  the  room  she  stared, 
at  him — at  his  leather  chaps,  at  the  gun  in  its  holster, 
at  his  hands,  taking  in  every  little  detail.  He  spoke. 

"Don't  be  scared,"  he  said  in  deep  tones  which  she 
judged  were  unnatural.  "You  won't  be  hurt." 

"I'm  not  afraid,"  she  replied,  and  was  surprised  to 
find  her  voice  quite  steady.  "What  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  those  deeds." 

He  could  mean  only  the  deeds  Turkey  had  given  her. 
Then  he  must  be  an  emissary  of  Braden.  Obviously  it 
was  not  Braden  himself.  But  how  could  he  know  who 
had  the  deeds? 

"Now,  listen,"  the  masked  man  added  as  she  did  not 


370        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

reply:  "I  know  you  have  them.  I  know  they  are  here 
in  this  house.  You'll  save  trouble  by  handing  them  over." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  Faith  told  him;  "and 
you  had  better  go  before  my  husband  comes  home." 

The  masked  man  laughed.  "Your  husband  won't  be 
home  for  a  while.  If  you  won't  give  them  to  me  I'll 
find  them  myself." 

"Very  well,"  Faith  replied.  "But  don't  break  any- 
thing, please." 

"You've  got  nerve,  all  right,"  the  man  conceded.  As 
he  spoke  another  man  similarly  masked  entered,  stand- 
ing by  the  door.  The  first  turned  to  him  and  they  held 
a  whispered  conversation.  "Well,  we'll  look  for  'em," 
the  first  man  announced.  "If  you're  sensible  you'll  just 
sit  quiet." 

Faith  sat  quietly  while  they  took  a  leisurely  survey  of 
the  room.  Her  writing  desk  in  the  corner  was  their 
first  objective  point.  Suddenly  it  came  to  her  that  their 
manner  of  procedure  was  too  leisurely.  They  did  not 
fear  interruption.  Ske  remembered  the  first  man's  words 
when  she  had  spoken  of  her  husband.  Was  his  con- 
tinued absence  in  some  way  due  to  them?  She  felt  a 
sickening  apprehension,  a  feeling  of  desertion,  of  help- 
lessness. 

She  began  to  study  the  intruders,  to  find  if  she  could 
note  something  by  which  to  identify  them.  There  was 
nothing  recognizable  about  the  first.  The  second  was  a 
big  man.  His  face  was  quite  invisible.  A  riding  slicker 
concealed  most  of  his  figure.  She  had  not  heard  his  voice. 
And  yet  she  found  something  elusively  familiar  in  his 
presence. 

From  her  bedroom  she  heard  the  sounds  of  drawers 
pulled  out  and  closed  and  the  slam  of  a  trunk  lid.  She 
would  have  been  amused  at  the  hopelessness  of  their 


TERROR  371 

search  but  for  her  growing  anxiety  for  her  husband. 
Even  if  he  did  come,  they  were  armed  and  he  was  not. 
The  search  progressed  from  one  room  to  another,  and 
as  it  did  so  it  became  more  impatient.  At  last  they  gave 
it  up,  and  the  first  man  advanced  to  her. 

"You  have  those  papers  pretty  well  cached,"  he  ad- 
mitted. "Where  are  they?" 

"I    thought   you    were    going    to    find   them." 
"You  can  cut  that  out.     Now  you're  going  to  tell  us 
where  they  are." 
"Ami?" 

"That's  what  I  said.  Now  see  here ;  I'm  going  to  give 
it  to  you  straight:  Your  husband  isn't  going  to  come 
home  till  we  turn  him  loose.  He  told  us  you  had  those 
deeds.  When  you  give  'em  up  you'll  see  him,  and  not 
before." 

"My  husband  never  told  you  anything  of  the  sort," 
Faith  said.  "You're  merely  bluffing." 

"Bluffing  or  not,  we're  going  to  get  what  we  came 
for.  You're  alone.  There  isn't  a  living  soul  in  miles. 
We  don't  want  to  hurt  you  or  your  husband,  but  if 
you've  got  any  sense  you'll  give  up,  and  save  trouble  for 
everybody." 

"What  you  want  isnVhere,"  Faith  told  him. 
"Where  are  those  deeds?    Who  has  them?" 
"I  won't  tell  you." 

"We  know  they  are  here.  Riley  hasn't  got  them, 
because  we've  gone  through  his  office.  And  your  hus- 
band hasn't  got  them,  because  we've  gone  through  him. 
So  you  have  them.  You  can't  bluff  us.  No  more  non- 
sense, now !"  He  caught  her  wrist  with  one  hand,  while 
with  the  other  he  thrust  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  in  her 
face.  Hand  them  over,"  he  snarled  ferociously,  "or 
say  your  prayers !" 


372        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

But  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  ring  of  steel  almost 
touched  her  forehead  Faith  was  not  convinced.  It  was 
melodrama,  tawdry,  poor.  The  man  was  a  poor  actor. 
She  laughed  in  his  face. 

"Take  care  I"  she  said,  "you  are  hurting  my  wrist." 

For  a  moment  the  muzzle  touched  her  forehead  and 
the  grip  tightened.  Then  he  flung  her  wrist  aside. 

"What  the  hell  can  you  do  with  a  woman,  anyway?" 
he  demanded  in  disgust.  But  his  companion  sprang  for- 
ward. "You  let  her  bluff  you,"  he  growled  hoarsely, 
"but  she  won't  bluff  me!"  He  caught  Faith  by  the 
throat.  "Where .are  they?"  he  demanded.  "Talk  quick, 
or  I'll  choke  you  I"  His  fingers  compressed  her  throat 
till  she  gasped.  The  strong  taint  of  alcohol  met  her 
nostrils. 

"No,  damn  it!"  the  first  man  cried,  in  protest;  but 
his  companion  cursed  him,  swinging  Faith  between  them. 

"You  keep  out  of  this !"  he  cried  savagely.  "I'll  make 
her  talk  inside  a  minute !"  And  his  grip  shut  down. 

This  time  there  was  no  bluff.  Faith  realized  the  prim- 
itive savagery  of  the  hands  that  were  laid  on  her.  With 
the  knowledge  she  fought  wildly,  like  a  cornered  ani- 
mal. For  a  moment  the  other  man  was  forgotten. 
Anger  and  fear  lent  her  strength.  She  caught  at  the 
handkerchief  which  hid  her  assailant's  face,  and  as  he 
loosed  one  hand  to  catch  her  wrist,  she  broke  away, 
tearing  the  cloth  with  her.  She  reeled  back,  gasping, 
disheveled,  her  dress  torn  at  the  throat,  her  hair  burst- 
ing from  confining  pins  falling  on  her  shoulders. 

"Blake!"  she  cried  hoarsely.     "Blake  French!" 

Stripped  of  his  disguise,  Blake  French  faced  her,  low- 
ering, ferocious — but  suddenly  afraid. 

"I  wasn't  going  to  hurt  you,"  he  said. 

Her  hands  went  to  her  throat. 


TERROR  373 

"To  hurt  me  ?  You  liar !  You  utter  brute  I  Is  that 
what  you  will  tell  my  husband?" 

Blake's  face  contorted.     He  took  a  step  forward. 

"You'll  tell  him,  will  you?" 

"Of  course  I  willl"  Faith  cried. 

Blake  French  knew  that  her  recognition  was  disas- 
trous. The  whole  plan,  including  the  blackmail  of  Bra- 
den,  had  depended  upon  recovering  the  deeds  without 
recognition.  But  now  the  matter  of  the  deeds  faded 
into  nothingness.  His  innate  brutality  had  swept  him 
away,  carried  him  too  far.  Apart  from  the  law  he 
knew  the  penalty  that  Angus  Mackay  would  exact  from 
the  man  who  laid  hands  on  his  wife.  But  Angus  was 
lying  roped,  helpless,  a  mile  away.  He  was  afraid, 
desperate.  There  must  be  silence;  at  all  costs,  silence. 

He  advanced.  Faith  sprang  back,  putting  the  table 
between  them.  But  Garland  suddenly  interposed.  Like 
Blake,  he  saw  the  collapse  of  their  plans,  but  he  accepted 
the  failure. 

"No  more  of  that!"  he  said.     "Let  her  alone  1" 

Blake  turned  on  him  in  fury. 

"You  damned  fool!"  he  snarled.  "We've  got  to  fix 
her,  and  Mackay,  too,  now!" 

"You're  crazy!"  Garland  cried.  "Do  you  want  to 
hang?" 

"And  do  you  want  Mackay  to  kill  you?"  Blake 
retorted.  He  sprang  forward,  caught  the  table  and 
thrust  it  aside.  But  Garland  caught  his  arm. 

"Let  her  alone,  I  tell  you !"  he  repeated.  "Come  on; 
it's  all  off.  Let's  get  out  of  here !" 

Blake  with  a  swift  jerk  ripped  the  concealing  hand- 
kerchief from  Garland's  face.  "Let  her  take  a  look  at 
you,  too !"  he  cried  and  flinging  him  aside  drew  his  gun 
and  turned  on  Faith. 


374        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Faith,  facing  him  helpless,  found  herself  looking  into 
the  eyes  of  Murder.  It  was  useless  to  run.  She  stood 
and  waited,  white  to  the  lips,  but  looking  him  in  the 
face.  The  gun  rose.  Garland,  recovering,  sprang  at 
Blake.  But  at  that  instant  the  door  went  wide  with 
the  crash  of  a  shattered  catch,  and  into  the  room 
bounded  Angus  Mackay. 

He  was  hatless,  wet,  plastered  with  mud.  His  eyes 
blazed  in  his  swarthy  face.  At  a  glance  they  took  in  the 
disorder,  the  overturned  table;  Faith  standing  at  bay, 
Blake  French  with  drawn  gun,  Garland  suddenly 
arrested  in  his  spring.  Then  in  grim,  deadly  silence 
he  launched  himself  at  Blake. 

Faith  saw  the  gun  shift  and  swing.  Its  report  in  the 
confines  of  the  room  was  shattering.  Garland  struck 
Blake's  arm  as  the  weapon  blazed  a  second  time;  but 
Angus  staggered  and  pitched  forward  at  Blake's  feet. 

Forgetful  of  all  else  Faith  sprang  forward  and  knelt 
beside  him,  lifting  his  head.  Blood  oozed  horribly  from 
his  dark  hair.  She  turned  her  face,  white,  anguished, 
to  his  slayer.  Above  her,  Garland  in  panic  cursed  Blake. 

"Now  you've  done  it!"  he  said  between  oaths. 
"You've  killed  him." 

"She — she'll  tell!"  Blake  chattered  with  quivering 
lips.  "We've  got  to — "  He  raised  his  gun  with  twitch- 
ing hand.  Garland  caught  it.  He  thrust  his  own  weapon 
in  Blake's  face. 

"If  you  try  that  I'll  blow  your  head  off !"  he  declared. 
With  a  quick  wrench  he  twisted  the  weapon  from  Blake, 
and  menacing  him  wkh  his  gun  shoved  him  toward  the 
door.  "We've  got  to  make  a  getaway.  Get  the  horses, 
quick!"  At  the  door  he  hesitated.  Returning  he  knelt 
beside  Faith. 

"Let  me  see  a  minute,"  he  said.   Her  senses  were  too 


TERROR  375 

dulled  to  shrink  from  him.    Suddenly  he  drew  a  quick 
breath,  almost  a  gasp  of  relief.    "He  isn't  dead." 
"Not  dead?"  Faith  cried. 

"Not  by  a  long  ways.  Just  creased  along  the  scalp. 
I  guess  I  hit  the  gun  just  in  time,  and  I'm  mighty  near  as 
glad  as  you  are.  He'll  be  all  right.  I  just  want  to  say, 
before  I  pull  out,  that  I  never  meant  to  do  more  than 
scare  you.  Maybe  you  think  I'm  lying,  and  I  don't 
blame  you.  But  I'm  not." 

"I  believe  you,"  Faith  said.  In  her  sudden  relief 
lesser  things  did  not  matter.  "I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  Stay  and  help  me,  please." 

"I  guess  you  don't  understand,"  he  returned,  shaking 
his  head.  "This  would  mean  about  twenty  years  apiece 
for  me  and  Blake  if  we're  caught.  And  then" — he 
nodded  at  Angus — "when  he  comes  around  there  won't 
be  room  enough  in  this  country  for  him  and  us." 

"But  I'H  tell  him  you  helped  me — how  you  struck 
Blake's  arm — and  afterward!" 

"You're  one  white  girl,"  Garland  said  with  emphasis, 
"but  I'm  in  too  deep.  You  can  tell  him  if  you  like,  and 
you  can  tell  him  I'm  pulling  out.  I  never  meant  to  do 
more  than  bluff  you.  Good-by." 

He  was  gone.  Faith  got  water,  towels,  and  bathed 
Angus'  head.  Touching  the  wound  with  tender  fingers 
she  found  that  as  Garland  had  said  it  was  apparently 
in  the  scalp  merely.  Presently  Angus  sighed,  stirred, 
muttered  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"HeHo !"  he  said,  and  as  recollection  came  to  him  he 
sat  up  suddenly,  staring  around.  "Where  are  they?"  he 
demanded. 

"They  are  gone,  dear.  It's  all  right.  Don't  try  to 
get  up." 

But  he  shook  his  head  impatiently  and  rose  to  his  feet. 


376        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"What  happened?  Blake  French  and  Garland!  What 
were  they  doing?  What's  the  matter  with  your  hair? 
Your  dress  is  torn."  A  tremendous  expletive  burst  from 
him.  "What  are  those  marks  on  your  throat?" 

Her  hand  fluttered  upward  involuntarily.  "Nothing. 
Never  mind  now.  Please — " 

"They  lard  hands  on  you  1"  he  cried.  "On  you!  And 
I  wasn't  here !  Tell  me.  No,  no,  I'm  all  right.  Tell 
me!" 

She  told  him,  seeing  his  face  set  and  grow  rigid.  He 
groaned. 

"They  stretched  a  rope  between  two  trees,  and  I  rode 
into  it.  The  fall  almost  knocked  me  out,  and  they 
finished  the  job.  They  roped  me  up.  It  took  me  a  long 
time  to  get  loose."  He  held  out  his  wrists,  stripped  of 
skin  to  the  raw  flesh.  "I  was  afraid  of  some  devil's 
work,  but — "  He  broke  off,  shaking  his  head,  and  put 
his  hand  to  his  left  side.  When  he  removed  it  his 
finger  tips  were  stained. 

"Oh,  you  are  hurt — twice!"  Faith  cried. 

"I  don't  think  this  is  much."  He  stripped  himself  to 
the  waist.  The  lamplight  revealed  a  red  furrow  lying 
along  his  ribs,  but  though  it  bled  freely  the  skin  was 
little  more  than  broken.  To  Faith's  pleading  to  lie 
down  he  shook  his  head.  On  his  instructions  she  brought 
an  old  sheet  which  he  ripped  into  a  long  bandage. 
"That  was  Blake's  first  shot,"  he  said  as  he  replaced 
his  garments.  "He'll  have  to  do  better  shooting  than  that 
— next  time." 

"Next  time?"  she  exclaimed. 

He  did  not  reply,  but  going  into  the  hall  came  back 
with  a  rifle  in  one  hand  and  his  gun  belt  in  the  other. 

"Old  girl,  please  rustle  me  some  grub — cold  meat  and 
bread — and  put  it  in  an  old  sugar  sack." 


TERROR  377 

"But  Angus,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"To  do?  I  am  going  after  Blake  French  and  Gar- 
land, of  course." 

"But  you  are  hurt.     You  are  not  fit — " 

"I  am  not  hurt  at  all — to  speak  of.  I  have  a  long 
account  to  settle  with  Blake  French  and  Garland — yes, 
and  with  the  whole  bunch  of  those  Frenches  and  Braden 
as  well — and  now  I  am  going  to  clean  it  up." 

"But  if  I  forgive—" 

"Forgive!"  he  interrupted  bitterly.  "It  doesn't  mat- 
ter to  me  what  you  forgive.  You  are  a  woman.  But  I 
am  a  man  and  you  are  my  wife,  and  I  can  see  the  marks 
of  Blake  French's  fingers  on  your  fles-h.  As  surely  as 
God  lives  I  will  kill  him,  or  he  will  kill  me.  About 
Garland  I  don't  know — yet." 

His  will  was  set,  hardened;  his  mood  black,  deadly. 
Immediately  he  set  about  his  simple  preparations.  He 
knew  that  Blake  and  Garland  would  not  wait  his  coming. 
In  all  probability  they  would  break  for  the  hills,  where  he 
must  be  prepared  to  follow  them.  He  had  found  Chief, 
who  had  come  home  of  his  own  accord,  waiting  by  the 
gate.  A  pack  pony  would  hamper  his  movements.  He 
shoved  his  food  in  a  sack,  rolled  a  single  blanket  in  a 
tarp,  got  out  a  heavy  sweater  and  changed  his  boots 
for  shoe-packs.  Then  he  held  out  his  arms  to  Faith.  She 
clung  to  him. 

"Don't  go!"  she  pleaded.  "If  anything  should  hap- 
pen— now — " 

"I  must  go,"  he  said.  "If  I  didn't  I  should  be  less 
than  a  man.  Nofehing  will  happen — to  me.  To-morrow 
— or  it's  to-day  now,  I  guess — go  to  the  ranch  and  stay 
there  till  I  get  back." 

He  kissed  her  gently  and  put  her  fpom  him.  She 
followed  him  to  the  door  and  saw  him  mount.  He 


378        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

waved  his  hand  and  vanished  in  the  blackness  of  the 
night. 

Faith  returned  to  the  living-room  and  sank  into  a 
chair.  She  was  shaken,  bone-tired,  sick  at  heart.  A  life- 
time seemed  to  have  passed  since  she  and  Angus  had 
sat  there  the  night  before,  indulging  in  make-believe, 
playing  at  tragedy.  Now  tragedy  had  invaded  their 
lives.  It  was  like  an  evil  dream. 

How  long  she  sat  there  she  never  knew.  Nor  did 
she  know  how  she  became  aware  that  she  was  not  alone. 
She  turned  her  head  to  see  a  figure  standing  behind  her. 
Her  shaken  nerves  forced  a  cry  from  her  lips. 

It  was  the  old  Indian,  Paul  Sam.  There  was  a  rifle 
under  his  arm,  and  around  his  middle  was  a  belt  from 
which  in  a  beaded  scabbard  hung  a  long,  broad-bladed 
knife.  He  was  hatless,  and  his  long,  gray  hair  hung  in 
two  braids  in  front  of  his  shoulders. 

"All  right,"  he  said.  "You  not  be  scared.  Where 
him  Angus?" 

"He  isn't  here." 

The  old  Indian's  eyes  roved  around  the  room,  resting 
on  the  signs  of  disorder.  "Iktah  mamook?"  he  queried. 

"I  don't  understand." 

"What  you  mamook?  What  you  do?"  He  threw  up 
his  head,  his  nostrils  twitching  like  a  dog's.  "Smell  um 
smoke,"  he  said.  "Somebody  shoot.  You  see  um  Blake 
Freneh?" 

"He  was  here,  but  he  has  gone,"  Faith  told  him. 

The  old  Indian's  dark  eyes  peered  at  her,  noting  her 
agitation.  "Me  ol1  man,"  he  said.  "Angus,  him  my 
tillikum.  You  him  klootchman,  him  wife,  all  same  my 
tillikum.  Goo'-by." 

Faith,  left  alone,  knew  she  could  not  sleep.  She 
dreaded  the  darkness,  the  lying  waiting  for  slumber 


TERROR  379 

which  would  not  come.  She  decided  to  stay  before  the 
fire  till  daylight.  Then  she  would  go  to  the  Mackay 
ranch. 

The  wind  had  ceased,  and  in  the  comparative  stillness 
she  heard  a  low,  distant  drumming  which  she  recognized 
as  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs.  They  approached,  halted, 
and  she  started  up  in  apprehension.  What  would  hap- 
pen next?  Was  everybody  abroad  that  night?  Footsteps 
tramped  on  the  veranda;  somebody  knocked. 

"Who  is  there?"  she  demanded. 

"Me— Turkey." 

She  opened  the  door.  There  stood  Turkey.  Shadowy 
in  the  background  was  Rennie  with  the  horses.  She 
saw  that  Turkey  was  armed. 

"What's  the  matter?"  he  asked.  "You  look  sick. 
Where's  Angus?" 

She  told  him,  finding  relief  in  the  confidence.  Turkey 
might  bring  Angus  back,  or  see  that  no  harm  befell  him. 
As  he  listened  a  hard  light  came  into  Turkey's  eyes. 

"If  Angus  don't  get  Blake  and  Nick  Garland,  I  will," 
he  declared.  "But  I  didn't  know  they  were  here.  I 
thought  they  were  with  the  bunch  that  did  up  Braden." 

"Did  up  Braden?" 

Turkey  nodded.  "The  French  boys — I  thought  sure 
Blake  was  in  it,  but  I  guess  he  couldn't  have  been — blew 
open  Braden's  safe  and  got  away  with  the  whole  works. 
Braden  was  shot.  Dave  and  I  are  part  of  a  posse  raised 
to  round  them  up,  and  I  wanted  Angus.  Braden,  before 
he  died,  said  that  Gavin  French  is  the  man  that  shot 
father." 


CHAPTER  XLII 

OUTLAWS  I 

MR.  BRADEN,  some  twenty-four  hours  after  his 
interview  with  Judge  Riley,  made  the  shocking 
discovery  that  in  all  probability  he  had  laid 
down  a  pat  hand  before  a  bluff.  But  though  the  dis- 
covery brought  him  to  the  verge  of  an  apoplectic  fit, 
it  came  too  late.  He  had  signed  a  statement  covering 
the  facts.  Under  the  circumstances  it  did  not  matter 
who  had  the  deeds.  If  Garland,  then  his  scheme  of 
blackmail  would  fall  down.  Mr.  Braden  found  ample 
to  occupy  him  in  the  crisis  which  the  loss  of  the  coal 
property  made  in  his  affairs. 

The  fact  was  that  he  was  very  hard  up.  The  supposed 
ownership  of  a  promising  coal  mine  had  bolstered  up 
his  shaky  credit.  But  as  soon  as  it  was  known  that  this 
was  no  longer  his,  one  or  two  creditors  would  come 
down  on  him  and  start  an  avalanche.  And  then,  though 
Riley  had  promised  not  to  prosecute,  it  was  inevitable 
that  some  suspicion  of  crookedness  would  attach  to  him. 
Under  the  circumstances  he  was  forced  to  the  conclusion 
that  he  had  played  out  his  string.  He  had  been  wise 
to  secure  cash.  He  could  raise  a  few  thousand  more, 
and  as  soon  as  he  did  so  he  would  pull  out.  At  once 
he  began  to  convert  his  few  remaining  assets,  and  as  he 
turned  them  into  cash  he  put  it  in  his  office  safe,  in  a 
private  compartment.  The  total  formed  a  nice  nest  egg 
for  the  future.  His  creditors  in  the  course  of  time 
might  get  judgment  and  be  hanged  to  them,  but  the 
cash  would  be  where  it  could  not  be  tied  up  by  injunc- 
tions. 

380 


OUTLAWS  381 

Nevertheless,  the  strain  told  on  his  nerves.  For  some 
time  he  had  slept  badly,  and  now  he  slept  scarcely  at  all. 
Whisky,  which  formerly  had  had  a  soporific  effect,  now 
failed,  though  he  doubled  the  quantity. 

And  so,  as  Angus  rode  home  through  the  darkness, 
Mr.  Braden  lay  awake.  His  mind,  after  the  habit  of  the 
insomniac,  searched  for,  dug  up  and  turned  over  the 
most  unpleasant  things  within  his  recollection,  driving 
sleep  farther  and  farther  away.  It  dwelt  upon  mistakes, 
failures,  humiliations  of  years  before.  The  wind  roared 
and  rain  splashed  upon  the  windows;  and  Mr.  Braden, 
cursed  by  a  thousand  plaguing  little  devils  of  memory, 
cursed  the  night  and  the  darkness  and  longed  for  day. 

At  last  he  dozed,  but  was  awakened  by  a  muffled,  jar- 
ring reverberation  which  shook  his  bed  slightly.  It  was 
much  like  localized  thunder.  He  lay  listening,  and  his 
ear  caught  a  sound  below. 

Somebody  was  in  his  office.  In  an  instant  he  was  out 
of  bed.  He  reflected  that  the  boss  of  a  local  logging 
camp  who  had  a  payroll  to  meet  the  next  day,  had  de- 
posited a  considerable  amount  of  cash  in  his  safe.  No 
doubt  that  was  what  the  robbers  were  after.  But  they 
would  not  overlook  his  own  cash,  too.  He  could  not 
obtain  help  until  too  late.  He  must  stop  them  single- 
handed,  if  at  all. 

His  knees  shaking  slightly,  Mr.  Braden  padded  softly 
across  the  room  to  a  wardrobe  from  which  he  took  an 
old  hammer  ten-gauge  shotgun,  found  a  box  of  antique 
shells,  and  filled  the  chambers.  Then  he  stole  cautiously 
down  stairs. 

The  door  of  his  office  was  closed.  He  turned  the 
knob  and  gently  opened  the  door  a  crack.  In  the  dark- 
ness the  rays  of  a  flashlight  flickered  on  his  open  safe. 
Figures  were  vaguely  outlined.  He  could  not  tell  how 


382        THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

many  there  were.  Obviously,  the  thing  to  do  was  to 
cover  them  with  the  shotgun,  but  light  was  necessary, 
for  otherwise  they  might  attack  him  in  the  dark.  His 
office  was  wired,  and  just  beside  the  door  was  a  switch. 
He  put  the  gun  to  his  shoulder,  holding  it  with  one 
hand  while  he  felt  for  the  switch.  He  found  it,  turned 
it,  and  the  office  sprang  into  light. 

Three  men  were  beside  the  safe.  One  held  a  flash 
light,  another  the  mouth  of  a  gunny  sack  to  which  the 
third  was  transferring  the  safe's  contents. 

"Hands  up!"  Mr.  Braden  commanded  in  a  voice 
which  shook  badly. 

The  three  men  sprang  erect.  Mr.  Braden  recognized 
Gavin,  Gerald  and  Larry  French.  They  had  made  no 
attempt  to  conceal  their  faces.  They  blinked,  frowning 
in  the  sudden  light. 

"You  infernal  scoundrels!"  cried  Mr.  Braden.  "Put 
up  your  hands!  Put  them  up  I  tell  you.  If  you  make  a 
move  I'll  shoot." 

Mr.  Braden's  mistake  was  in  reiteration.  Etiquette 
and  common  sense  alike  demand  that  instant  obedience 
to  a  gun  be  enforced  by  the  gun  itself.  In  this  case  the 
muzzle  of  the  gun  wavered  and  wobbled  badly. 

"Put  that  gas-pipe  down!"  Gavin  said  contemptu- 
ously. 

"Put  up  your  hands!"  Mr.  Braden  repeated.  "I'll 
shoot,  I  tell  you.  I  will!  I — " 

Quite  by  accident,  in  response  to  unintentional  pres- 
sure of  an  unsteady  finger,  the  ten-gauge  roared  and  the 
shot  charge,  almost  solid  at  that  short  range,  passing 
between  Gavin  and  Gerald  struck  and  spattered  against 
the  steel  wall  of  the  safe.  Instantly,  Gerald  jerked  a 
six-shooter  from  its  holster  and  fired  and  fired  twice. 

Mr.  Braden's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  dumb 


OUTLAWS  383 

wonder.  The  shotgun  sagged,  exploded  again,  and  the 
charge  ripped  the  floor.  He  sank  downward,  pitched 
forward,  and  lay  still. 

"Hell's  fire!"  cried  Gavin.  "What  did  you  do  that 
for?" 

"What  for?"  Gerald  returned.  "Because  I  don't  want 
to  be  shot,  myself." 

"He  didn't  mean  to  shoot.  He  wouldn't  have  shot 
again." 

"Then  he  was  damned  careless,"  Gerald  replied. 
"One  barrel  of  a  shotgun  is  plenty  for  me.  It  was  com- 
ing to  him." 

But  in  a  rolling  explosion  of  oaths  Gavin  cursed  his 
brother  for  a  fool.  He  had  spilt  the  beans.  There 
would  be  a  devil  of  a  row.  They  would  have  to  make  a 
get-away. 

"What  for— if  he  can't  talk?"  Gerald  asked. 

But  at  that  moment  Larry  uttered  an  exclamation. 
He  pointed  to  a  window.  Against  the  pane  below  the 
drawn  blind  was  a  face  white  in  the  reflected  light. 
Almost  instantly  it  vanished.  Outside  they  heard  run- 
ning feet. 

"How  about  a  get-away  now?"  Gavin  demanded. 
"He's  gone  to  get  help.  I  know  him.  He's  a  clerk  in 
Park's  law  office." 

"I  guess  that  settles  it,"  Gerald  concurred  coolly. 
Swiftly  he  scooped  the  remaining  currency  into  the  sack. 
"Well,"  he  added,  "we've  got  something  to  make  a  get- 
away on." 

"Come  on,  come  on,"  young  Larry  urged. 

"Keep  cool,"  said  Gerald. 

"If  you'd  kept  cool,"  the  younger  man  retorted,  "we 
could  have  bluffed  Braden." 

But  none  of  them  voiced  a  regret  for  Braden  himself. 


384         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

His  death,  if  he  was  dead,  was  to  be  deplored  merely 
as  it  might  affect  them.  Gavin  turned  the  huddled 
figure  over  and  swore  afresh. 

"You're  too  smooth  with  a  gun,  Jerry.  He  isn't  dead 
yet,  but  I  guess  he's  got  his.  Now  we  have  to  beat  it." 

They  emerged  on  the  streets  and  ran  for  their  horses, 
tethered  on  the  outskirts  of  town,  mounted  and  pounded 
off  on  the  trail  toward  the  ranch.  They  rode  fast,  but 
without  forcing  their  horses,  for  later  they  would  need 
all  that  was  in  the  animals. 

The  ranch  was  dark  as  they  rode  up  to  it.  They 
loosened  cinches,  removed  bridles  and  gave  the  horses 
feed.  Entering  the  house  they  began  to  throw  an  out- 
fit together. 

Gavin,  mounting  the  stairs,  knocked  at  his  sister's 
door. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,  Kit." 

"In  the  morning." 

"No,  now." 

"Come  in,  then." 

She  sat  up  in  bed  as  he  struck  a  match  and  lit  the 
lamp.  As  he  turned  to  her  the  big  man's  cold,  blue  eyes 
softened  a  shade  in  expression.  He  sat  on  the  side  of 
the  bed  and  put  his  arm  around  her. 

"Kittens,  old  girl,  I've  only  got  minutes.  Jerry,  Larry 
and  I  have  got  to  pull  out."  He  told  her  why,  bluntly, 
feeling  her  body  tense  and  stiffen.  "So  that  was  how  it 
was,"  he  concluded.  "And  now  here's  what  we're  going 
to  do :  We're  going  to  break  north  through  the  hills  and 
work  up  into  the  Cache  River  Valley.  Then  we'll  go 
east  or  west,  whichever  looks  best.  We  may  split  up, 
or  not.  Here's  some  money — no,  no,  this  is  all  right. 
Braden  never  saw  this.  It's  mine.  Don't  give  any  of  it 
to  Blake.  And  here's  what  you  do :  This  place  is  sunk 


OUTLAWS  385 

with  a  mortgage,  so  sell  your  own  horses  and  quit  it. 
Let  the  tail  go  with  the  hide.  Get  out  of  here,  and 
wherever  you  go  subscribe  for  the  Pacific  Spokesman. 
Read  the  'lost'  column  every  day,  and  when  you  see  an 
ad.  for  a  lost  horse  with  our  brand,  answer  it.  I'll  be 
doing  that  advertising.  I  guess  that's  all.  I'm  sorry, 
Kit,  but  it's  the  best  I  can  do  for  you  now." 

"Yes,  it's  the  best,"  she  admitted.  "Don't  worry 
about  me.  I  was  going  to  leave  here  anyway.  I'm  going 
to  do  something,  I  don't  know  just  what.  But  ever  since 
father  died  I've  known  I  couldn't  go  on  as  we've  been 
going.  You've  made  an  awful  mess  of  things — you 
boys.  I've  seen  you  going  down  hill — from  bad  to 
worse — losing  your  self-respect  and  that  of  others,  fall- 
ing lower  and  lower,  till  it  has  come  to — this. 

"And  I've  gone  downhill  myself.  I've  lived  on  money, 
knowing  how  it  was  obtained,  and  saying  nothing.  I'm 
not  preaching.  I'm  not  finding  fault.  But  I'm  through. 
And  I'm  through  with  you  boys  unless  you  change.  Of 
the  whole  lot,  you're  the  only  one  I  care  anything  about. 
I  don't  know  if  you  care  anything  about  me,  but  if  you 
do  you're  the  only  one  who  does.  YcuVe  always  been 
fair  and  decent  to  me,  anyway,  I — I'd  loved  you 
— if  you'd  let  me." 

"Damn  it,  Kit,"  her  brother  replied,  "why  didn't 
you  say  something  like  that  before?  I've  been  fond  of 
you  ever  since  you  were  a  baby,  but  you*  never  let  me 
see  you  thought  anything  more  of  me  than  the  other 
boys — and  that  was  mighty  little.  Well — what  you 
say  is  true.  I'm  a  rotten  bad  lot,  but  all  the  same  I'm 
just  about  as  sick  of  the  show  as  you  are.  And  I'll  tell 
you  this  much :  If  I  can  get  clear  now  I'll  make  a  fresh 
start — IVe  been  thinking  of  the  Argentine — and  if 
you'll  go  with  me,  I'd  like  it." 


386         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"I'll  go,"  she  promised.  "But  suppose  you  don't 
get  clear?" 

The  big  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Then  I  lose 
out.  I'm  not  going  to  rot  in  the  pen.  You  can  say  a 
little  prayer  if  you  feel  like  it." 

She  stared  at  him,  somber-eyed.  "I  suppose  that's 
the  best  way,  after  all." 

"The  only  way.    And  now  I  must  rustle  an  outfit." 

"I'll  be  down  in  a  minute,"  she  said. 

She  came  down  to  the  apparent  confusion  of  their 
preparations.  Each  had  drawn  on  his  personal  outfit. 
Gerald  and  Larry  nodded  to  her.  She  said  little,  made 
no  reproaches,  helping  them  silently,  swiftly.  Suddenly 
Larry  paused,  throwing  up  his  head,  lifting  his  hand. 
Upon  the  sudden  silence  burst  the  sound  of  swift  hoofs. 
The  brothers  looked  at  each  other. 

"Go  upstairs,  Kit,"  said  Gavin,  "and  stay  there." 

But  in  a  moment  it  was  evident  that  there  was  but 
one  horse.  The  door  was  tried,  shaken.  A  furious  oath 
came  from  outside. 

"It's  just  Blake,"  said  Larry,  and  unfastened  the 
door. 

Blake  stared  at  his  brothers,  at  their  weapons,  at  the 
outfit  piled  in  the  room. 

"What's  this?"  he  asked. 

"You  may  as  well  know,"  said  Gerald  and  told  him. 
"And  you  keep  your  mouth  shut,"  he  concluded. 

Blake  laughed  with  a  certain  relief.  "I've  got  to 
make  a  get-away  myself.  I'm  going  with  you.  I  shot 
up  Angus  Mackay." 

"You  shot  Angus!"  Kathleen  cried.  Her  face  went 
white,  and  she  clutched  the  back  of  a  chair.  "Do  you 
mean  that  he  is  dead?" 

"No,"  Blake  replied.  He  had  learned  that  much  from 


OUTLAWS  387 

Garland,  who  had  decided  that  it  would  be  safer  for 
him  to  part  company  and  had  done  so.  "He'll  get  over 
it,  I  guess." 

"What  started  it?"  Larry  asked. 

"He  came  for  me  and  I  downed  him,"  Blake  replied 
sullenly.  "Never  mind  what  started  it." 

"You're  lying!  '  Kathleen  told  him  fiercely.  "I  know 
you,  Blake.  You'd  never  have  faced  him  if  he  had  had 
a  gun.  You  shot  him  in  the  back,  or  unarmed." 

But  Gavin  interposed. 

"If  you're  coming  with  us,  get  a  move  on.  Rustle 
your  own  outfit." 

They  gave  Blake  scant  time.  Immediately  Larry 
began  to  pack  two  ponies.  If  necessary  these  could  be 
abandoned,  but  meanwhile  they  would  save  the  saddle 
horses.  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  packed.  All  but 
Gavin  mounted.  In  the  hall  he  took  Kathleen  in  his 
great  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"Good-by,  Kit.  No  telling  how  this  will  come  out. 
Remember  what  I  told  ytu." 

"I'll  remember,"  she  said.  "Good-by,  Gan — and 
good  luck. 

He  released  her  and  swung  into  the  saddle.  In  a 
moment  they  had  vanished  in  the  darkness,  heading 
north  for  the  pass  which  led  into  the  wilderness  of  the 
hills — outlaws. 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

TAKING  THE  TRAIL 

KATHLEEN  returned  to  her  room  and  dressed 
herself  fully.     It  was  only  a  matter  of  time  until 
pursuit  would  be  organized,  would  arrive,  and 
she  would  be  questioned.    She  would  tell  nothing.    Her 
brothers  should  have  their  fighting  chance. 

Already  her  mind,  recovering  from  the  shock  of  the 
unexpected,  was  busy  with  the  future.  A  sister  of  out- 
laws! Well,  she  would  go  away,  adopt  some  other 
name,  and  wait  till  she  heard  from  Gavin. 

With  a  swift  pang  of  pain  she  thought  of  Angus 
Mackay.  How  badly  was  he  hurt?  With  daylight  she 
would  see,  she  would  offer  to  do  what  she  could.  Of 
course  Faith  and  Jean  would  shrink  from  Blake's  sister. 
She  could  not  help  that.  She  would  take  her  medicine. 
There  would  be  much  bitter  medicine  to  take. 

She  went  downstairs  and  began  to  put  away  things 
that  her  brothers  had  at  first  selected  and  then  discarded. 
It  would  not  be  long,  now,  till  something  happened.  She 
picked  up  a  coat  of  Larry's,  turned  with  it  in  her  hand, 
and  saw  Angus  Mackay. 

She  had  heard  no  sound.  Yet  he  stood  in  the  door- 
way. His  head  was  bandaged.  A  six-shooter  in  his 
hand  advertised  his  purpose. 

"Angus  I"  she  cried.  He  raised  his  hand  in  a  warn- 
ing gesture. 

"Don't  make  a  noise!  I  didn't  expect  to  see  you. 
I'm  sorry,  I'll  go  away." 

"You  are  looking  for  Blake!" 

388 


TAKING  THE  TRAIL  389 

He  nodded  silently. 

"He  isn't  here,  Angus.  He  has  gone.  I  want  to 
know  what  happened." 

"It  will  not  be  pleasant  for  you  to  hear." 

"I  must  know." 

As  he  told  her,  her  face  grew  white  with  anger. 

"I  knew  he  was  a  brute — a  cur!"  she  said.  "But  this 
is  too  much." 

"Yes,  it  is  too  much,"  he  agreed  gravely.  "I  am 
sorry,  because  he  is  your  brother,  but  it  has  come  to  a 
finish  between  Blake  and  me." 

"I  understand,"  she  said  with  equal  gravity.  "I  do 
not  feel  that  he  is  my  brother.  But  they  have  all  gone 
together,  and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  why." 

He  listened,  frowning.  He  did  not  care  about  Braden, 
to  whom  he  attributed  the  attempt  of  Blake  and  Gar- 
land to  recover  Faith's  deeds.  But  if  Blake  had  gone 
with  the  other  boys  it  meant  that  they  would  all  stand 
together.  It  was  feud,  then,  at  last,  unavoidable.  But 
his  purpose  was  unchanged. 

"They  don't  know,"  Kathleen  said,  "that  Blake  laid 
hands  on  Faith.  If  they  had  known,  they  would  not  help 
him.  They  are  bad  enough  but  at  least  they  are  men." 

He  nodded  silently.  There  was  no  doubt  of  that. 
Kathleen  raised  her  head,  listening.  He  became  aware 
of  a  distant  sound. 

"That  is — the  law,"  she  said.  "Perhaps  you  would 
rather  not  be  seen  here — with  me." 

"I  am  glad  to  be  here.  I  will  see  them.  You  shouldn't 
be  alone.  If  you  will  go  to  Faith  in  the  morning,  and 
say  that  I  asked  you  to  stay  with  her — " 

"No,  no!"  she  cried.  "It  is  kind  of  you.  You  are 
a  good  man,  Angus.  But  I  can't  do  that." 

"You  would  be  welcome." 


390      THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Still  I  cannot  do  it." 

But  the  hoof-beats  swelled  in  volume  and  clattered  to 
a  halt  in  front  of  the  house.  Angus  went  to  the  front 
door  and  opened  it.  He  found  himself  confronted  by 
a  long,  lean,  grizzled  gentleman  who  held  a  gun  of 
orthodox  proportions  in  readiness  for  action.  But  as 
he  recognized  Angus  he  lowered  it  with  a  grunt  of 
surprise. 

"Didn't  expect  to  see  you!  Any  of  the  French  boys 
in  the  house?" 

"They've  pulled  out.     Their  sister  is  alone." 

The  grizzled  gentleman  grunted  again.  His  name  was 
Bush,  and  he  was  the  sheriff's  deputy.  As  the  sheriff 
was  old  and  carried  much  weight  for  age,  the  rough 
jobs  fell  to  Jake  Bush,  who  did  them  well.  He  possessed 
much  experience,  a  craw  full  of  sand,  and  a  thorough 
understanding  of  a  gun.  Behind  him,  with  horses,  Angus 
saw  men  he  knew — Bustede,  Drury,  Fanning,  McClin- 
tock — all  men  of  the  hills  and  of  their  hands. 

"Yeh,  I  figgered  them  boys  would  pull  out  ahead  of 
me,"  Bush  admitted  placidly.  "And  of  course  they'll 
p'int  out  north  for  the  hills,  where  they  ain't  no  wires. 
They  know  the  country  darn  well,  too.  So  I  called  in 
at  your  ranch  and  rousted  out  Dave.  He's  a  wise  old 
ram  in  them  hills.  Your  brother  wanted  to  come,  and 
he  bein'  a  useful  kid  I  swore  him  in,  too.  I  wanted  you, 
but  when  I  found  out  where  you  was  I  sent  Dave  and 
the  kid  after  you,  and  come  right  along  here.  But  I  had 
a  hunch  it'd  be  too  late.  Still,  it's  a  s'prise  to  see  you." 

"And  you  want  to  know  why  I'm  here?" 

"Well — yes.  It  might  have  some  bearin'  on  the  case." 

Angus  told  him  why,  and  Bush's  eyebrows  drew 
together. 

"Now  I'm  free  to  say  that  for  a  low-down  skunk  this 


TAKING  THE  TRAIL  391 

here  Blake.  French  is  some  pumpkins.  I  sure  thought 
he  was  with  his  brothers,  but  this  gives  him  a  alibi,  I 
s'pose.  And  I  s'pose,  also,  you're  out  to  git  him.  Is 
that  right?" 

"That's  right." 

"I  don't  say  he  don't  need  killin',"  said  the  deputy. 
"But  the  darn  law — nowadays — sorter  discourages  these 
here  private  executions.  And  I'm  an  officer  of  the 
law." 

"You  and  the  law,  Jake,"  Angus  said  deliberately, 
"can  both  go  to  hell!" 

"Now  don't  be  so  darn  hair-trigger!"  the  deputy  pro- 
tested. "Here's  the  proposition:  You've  give  me  in- 
formation which  justifies  me  in  arrestin'  him  for  mur- 
derous assault  on  your  wife,  and  shootin'  you  with  intent 
to  kill.  His  brothers  is  wanted  for  robbery  and  murder, 
and  they're  all  stringin'  their  chips  together.  I  figger 
they'll  resist  arrest,  and  I  don't  believe  in  allowin'  my 
officers  to  be  shot  up.  So  if  you  was  sworn  in,  and  was 
to  kill  Blake  resistin'  arrest,  it  would  be  all  reg'lar. 
Savvy?" 

"But  suppose  he  doesn't  resist  arrest?" 

"Never  cross  a  bridge  till  you  come  to  it,"  said  Bush 
wisely.  "You  got  to  come  along  with  us  to  find  him, 
anyhow.  So  I'll  swear  you  in  and  we'll  hope  for  the 
best." 

Bush's  questioning  of  Kathleen  was  perfunctory.  He 
grinned  at  her  refusal  to  give  information.  "I  wouldn't 
think  much  of  you  if  you  did,"  he  admitted,  and  went 
on  a  tour  of  investigation,  from  which  he  drew  some 
very  accurate  deductions. 

Turkey  and  Rennie  arrived,  and  for  the  first  time 
Angus  heard  of  Braden's  dying  declaration  that  Gavin 
French  was  responsible  for  the  killing  of  Adam  Mackay. 


392         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

But  beyond  the  bare  statement  there  were  no  details. 
Braden's  end  had  come  before  he  had  been  able  to 
amplify  it. 

"Do  you  suppose  it's  so?"  Turkey  queried.  "Or  was 
he  just  trying  to  hang  something  on  Gavin?" 

Angus  did  not  know.  There  were  times,  in  the  years, 
when  he  had  been  puzzled  by  Gavin's  peculiar  regard 
for  him.  ,  There  had  always  been  something  in  the 
big  man's  eyes  which  he  could  not  read,  something 
veiled,  inscrutable.  He  alone  of  the  brothers  had  been 
reluctant  to  take  up  their  father's  quarrel  with  Angus. 
This  might  be  the  reason. 

"If  he  killed  father,"  said  Turkey  grimly,  "he's  got  it 
coming  to  him.  You  take  Blake,  and  I'll  take  him." 

"There  is  nothing  to  go  on  but  what  Braden  said," 
Angus  pointed  out.  But  he  thought  of  his  father's  dying 
words.  His  father  had  not  wished  to  lay  a  feud  upon 
him.  It  fitted. 

At  dawn,  acting  on  Bush's  theory,  they  headed  north 
for  the  pass.  When  they  struck  it  there  were  fresh 
foot-prints,  many  of  them,  heading  into  the  hills. 

"That's  them,"  said  Bush.    "Hey,  Dave?" 

"Sure,"  said  Rennie.  "It  ain't  Injuns.  These  horses 
is  shod." 

A  mountain  pass  is  not  a  road.  It  merely  represents 
the  only  practicable  way  of  winning  through  the  jumbled 
world  of  hills.  Railway  construction  in  the  mountains 
follows  the  pass,  but  persons  who  admire  scenery  from 
vestibuled  coaches  know  nothing  of  the  old  pass  of  the 
pack-trail,  the  binding  brush,  the  fallen  timber,  the  slides, 
the  swift  creeks,  the  gulches,  the  precipices  to  which  the 
trail  must  cling. 

The  trail  itself — the  original  trail — is  invariably  the 
line  of  least  resistance.  It  proceeds  on  the  theory  that  it 


TAKING  THE  TRAIL  393 

is  easier  to  go  around  than  through  or  over.  If  travel- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  a  creek  is  easier  it  crosses.  When 
conditions  are  reversed,  it  comes  back.  It  wanders  with 
apparent  aimlessness,  but  eventually  gets  there,  at  the 
cost  of  time,  but  without  much  work.  To  natural  ob- 
stacles the  wild  animals  and  the  equally  wild  men  who 
first  trod  the  passes  opposed  patience  and  time,  of  which 
they  had  great  store.  Later  the  pioneer  brought  the  ax. 
He  slashed  out  the  brush,  so  that  he  and  his  might  get 
by  without  trouble ;  but  he  followed  the  windings  of  the 
trail. 

The  pass  upon  which  the  pursuit  entered  was  a  good 
trail.  It  led  gradually  and  almost  imperceptibly  upward, 
following  the  general  course  of  a  creek.  The  hills 
sloped  back  on  either  hand.  Into  them  led  wide  draws, 
timbered,  little  valleys  in  themselves.  But  this  pass  was 
merely  a  vestibule.  It  reached  the  summit  of  the  first 
range  of  hills,  and  there  was  a  way  down  the  other  side. 
The  trail  had  been  cut  out.  But  beyond  were  hundreds 
of  square  miles  of  mountains  in  which  what  few  trails 
there  were  had  never  known  an  ax. 

In  the  afternoon  they  reached  the  summit  of  the  first 
divide.  It  was  comparatively  low,  and  timbered.  There 
was  a  lake,  scarcely  more  than  a  pond.  There  the 
fugitives  had  halted. 

Rennie  and  Bush  nosed  among  the  signs  like  old 
hounds,  not  looking  for  anything  in  particular,  but  be- 
cause they  could  not  help  it. 

"I  sh'd  say  they  got  two  pack  ponies,"  Bush  decided. 
"There's  the  four  French  boys,  and  maybe  Garland." 

"Garland  ain't  with  'em,"  Rennie  returned  with  con- 
viction. "He's  too  darn  wise.  He  knows  Angus  would 
go  after  Blake,  or  if  he  didn't  me  or  Turkey  would.  So 
he'd  quit  Blake  right  away  and  pull  out  by.  himself. 


394         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

I'd  bet  money  on  it." 

"Not  with  me,"  Bush  grinned.  "I  guess  you're 
right." 

They  were  standing  by  the  little  lake,  and  Rennie 
pointed  to  a  moccasin  track  that  lay  in  the  soft  ground. 
The  foot  that  made  it  was  shapely,  rather  small,  and 
straight  along  the  inner  line.  The  toes  were  spread 
widely,  naturally. 

"That's  funny,"  said  Rennie. 

"Why?"  Bush  asked.  "It's  some  Injun.  He  jumped 
from  there  onto  that  log.  I  s'pose  he  wanted  water 
without  wettln'  his  feet." 

"What's  an  Injun  doin'  here?" 

"What's  an  Injun  doin'  any  place?"  Bush  countered 
with  the  scorn  of  the  old-timer.  "S'pose  you  loosen  up 
some.  You  know  as  much  about  Injuns  as  I  do." 

"Well,  we  ain't  met  this  Injun,"  said  Rennie,  "so  he's 
travelin'  the  same  way  we  are.  Maybe  he's  just  one  of 
a  bunch  that's  in  here  huntin'.  But  I  was  tellin'  you 
about  how  old  Paul  Sam  come  to  Angus'  wife's  place 
last  night.  He  was  lookin'  for  Blake.  'Course  you  heard 
what  was  said  about  Blake  and  his  granddaughter.  I 
just  wondered." 

Bush  removed  his  hat  and  scratched  his  head. 

"By  gosh,  I  wonder!"  he  observed.  "He's  mighty 
old,  but  it  might  be.  He  ain't  no  fish-eatin'  flat-face 
Siwash.  He's  a  horse  Injun — one  of  the  old  stock.  But 
he  is  darn  old." 

"He  thought  a  heap  of  the  girl,"  said  Rennie.  "He 
sent  her  to  school.  He  was  goin'  to  make  her  all  same 
white  girl." 

"Uh-huh !"  Bush  growled.  "A  lot  of  darn  fools  think 
they  can  do  tricks  like  that.  But  she's  a  job  for  the 
Almighty.  Well,  if  this  is  the  old  buck,  he  couldn't  go 


TAKING  THE  TRAIL  395 

on  a  better  last  war-trail,  and  I  wish  him  a  heap  of  luck. 
Now  let's  get  goin'.  " 

Night  found  them  at  the  foot  of  the  range  they  had 
crossed.  They  were  now  in  the  valley  of  the  Klimmin- 
chuck,  a  fast  stream  of  the  proportions  of  a  river,  fed 
by  tributary  creeks.  Across  it  rose  mountains,  range  on 
range,  nameless,  cut  by  valleys,  pockets,  basins  and 
creeks.  Their  area  resembled  a  tumbled  sea.  It  was  a 
mountain  wilderness,  little  known,  unmapped,  much  as 
it  came  from  the  hands  of  the  Creator. 

And  yet  in  this  wilderness  there  were  trails.  Up  tribu- 
tary creeks  hunters  had  made  them  for  short  distances, 
but  they  soon  petered  out.  Beyond,  into  the  heart  of  the 
hills,  were  other  faintly  marked  routes,  scarcely  trails 
but  ways  of  traverse,  by  which  at  various  and  widely 
separated  times  man  had  penetrated  into  these  solitudes 
and  even  crossed  them  entirely. 

All  the  men  knew  something  of  this  mountain  area, 
but  Rennie's  knowledge  was  the  most  extensive.  His 
was  the  restlessness,  the  desire  to  see  something  of  what 
lay  beyond,  of  the  pioneer.  He  had  made  long  incur- 
sions, alone.  Bush  leaned  on  this  knowledge.  Around 
the  fire  that  night,  pipes  alight,  they  held  council. 

"They've  turned  up  river,"  said  Bush.  "If  they 
keep  on  for  the  head  waters  they  get  into  mighty  bad 
country,  hey,  Dave?" 

"Mighty  bad,"  Rennie  agreed.  ''They  couldn't  get 
no  place." 

"And  they  ain't  outfitted  to  winter.  Do  they  know 
she's  bad  up  there?" 

"Sure  they  know.  Anyhow,  Gavin  does.  My  turn- 
turn  is  they'll  ford  above  here  and  try  for  a  clean  get- 
away, maybe  up  Copper  Creek,  right  across  the  moun- 
tains." 


396         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"Can  they  make  it?" 

"They  might.     Depends  on  what  they  know  of  the 
country,  and  what  luck  they  have." 

"With  horses?" 

"Well,  they  might." 

"How  far  have  you  ever  gone  yourself?" 

"I  been  up  to  where  the  Copper  heads  and  over  the 
divide  and  on  a  piece." 

"Good  travelin'?" 

"No,  darn  mean." 

"Trail?" 

"Only  a  liar  would  call  it  a  trail.  Still,  you  can  get 
along  if  you're  careful." 

"Could  they  have  gone  farther?" 

"Sure." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  anybody  gettin'  plum'  through, 
say  to  Cache  River,  that  way?" 

"I've  heard  of  it — yes.  Old  Pete  Jodoin  claimed  he 
made  her.  And  one  time  I  run  onto  an  old  Stoney  buck 
and  he  told  me  how,  long  ago,  his  people  used  to  come 
down  huntin'  onto  this  here  Klimmin,  but  they  don't  do 
it  no  more." 

"Pete  Jodoin  was  an  old  liar,"  said  Bush,  and  so's  any 
Stoney,  on  gen'ral  principles.  But  it's  furiny  the  places 
you  can  go  if  you  know  how.  Think  these  French  boys 
would  know  enough  to  make  a  trip  like  that?" 

"Gavin  knows  a  lot  about  these  hills,"  Rennie  replied. 
"He's  hunted  in  'em  a  lot  by  himself.  He  pan  pack  near 
as  much  as  a  pony,  and  it's  darn  hard  to  say  where  he 
went  and  didn't  go." 

"Well,  said  Bush,  "I  only  hope  we  don't  lose  their 
trail." 

So  far  the  trail  had  been  plain,  the  hoof  marks  on 
it  visible.  But  on  bad  ground  this  would  not  be  the  case 


TAKING  THE  TRAIL  397 

There  would  be  no  trail,  in  the  sense  of  a  path,  and  the 
trail  in  the  sense  of  hoof-marks  might  disappear  entirely. 
Therefore  it  was  important  to  ascertain  if  they  could 
the  line  of  flight,  so  that  if  signs  temporarily  ceased 
there  might  be  a  possibility  of  finding  them  again  fur- 
ther on. 

But  in  the  morning  the  trail  of  the  fugitives  led 
straight  to  the  ford,  crossed  it  and  held  up  the  farther 
side.  They  came  to  the  mouth  of  Copper  Creek,  a  delta 
with  much  gravel  wash,  but  the  trail  of  the  fugitives,  in 
place  of  turning  the  Copper,  led  straight  on  up  the 
valley  trail.  A  couple  of  miles  on,  just  after  crossing  a 
patch  of  rocky  ground,  Turkey  who  was  in  the  lead 
pulled  up  and  dismounted. 

"What's  the  matter,  kid?"  Bush  asked. 

"Matter!"  Turkey  excjaimed.  "Why  there  isn't  a 
shod  horse  in  this  bunch  of  tracks  we're  following." 

Investigation  showed  that  Turkey  was  right.  They 
had  been  riding  on  the  tracks  of  unshod  horses,  pre- 
sumably of  an  Indian  hunting  party.  And  as  they  had 
trampled  on  these  with  their  own  shod  horses  it  was 
going  to  be  hard  to  ascertain  just  how  far  they  had  gone 
on  this  false  trail.  But  Rennie  had  his  own  idea  of  a 
short  cut. 

"They  made  the  side  jump  somewheres  on  these  here 
rocks,"  he  said.  "They  figgered  we'd  go  hellin'  along  on 
the  tracks  of  them  barefoots.  Now  this  bad  ground  is 
the  end  of  that  there  shoulder  you  see,  and  she  runs 
back  and  dips  down  on  the  other  side  to  the  Copper." 

"Sounds  reas'nable,"  Bush  admitted,  "Then  we  go 
back  to  the  Copper." 

The  two  were  standing  together  apart  from  the 
others. 

"Look  over  there,"  said  Rennie,  "and  line  up  this 


398         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

rock  with  that  lone  cottonwood.    What  do  you  see?" 

Bush  looked  along  the  line  indicated.  "By  gosh," 
he  ejaculated,  "that  cottonwood's  blazed!" 

"Blazed  both  sides,"  Rennie  informed  him.  "I  been 
there.  And  further  on  there's  another  tree  blazed. 
Fresh." 

"Lord — ee!"  said  Bush.  "Them  French  boys 
wouldn't  do  that.  You  think  it's  the  old  buck?" 

Rennie  nodded.  "He's  wiser  'n  we  are;  also  closer 
to  'em.  He's  playin'  a  lone  hand,  so  he  has  to  wait  his 
chance  at  Blake.  He  figgers  Angus  will  be  after  Blake, 
and  as  he  may  run  into  bad  luck  himself  he  wants  to 
make  sure  somebody  lands  him.  He  don't  know  why 
the  other  boys  are  there,  but  he  knows  there  must  be 
some  good  reason,  because  they're  in  a  hurry  and  tryin' 
to  hide  their  trail.  So  on  gen'ral  principles  he  blazes 
that  cottonwood  where  he  strikes  their  tracks  where 
they've  turned  off,  and  keeps  goin'." 

"Uh-huh!"  Bush  agreed.  "I  guess  we  better  not 
tell  them  Mackay  boys  about  the  Injun.  They'd  be  for 
crowdin'  things,  and  likely  mess  'em  up.  They  don't 
want  nobody  to  get  ahead  of  'em.  I  wish  I  hadn't  told 
'em  what  old  Braden  said.  But  it  seemed  right  they 
should  know." 

"So  it  is  right,"  said  Rennie.  "Adam  Mackay  hadn't 
no  gun.  She  was  murder.  Only  thing,  I  don't  savvy  it 
bein'  Gavin  French.  Givin'  the  devil  his  due,  he's  all 
man.  And  Braden  was  such  a  darn  liar.  Well,  there's 
many  a  card  lost  in  the  shuffle  turns  up  in  the  deal." 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE  RED  AVENGER 

MANY  miles  beyond  the  head  waters  of  Copper 
Creek  four  men  rode  along  the  crest  of  a 
sparsely  timbered  summit.  Their  horses  were 
weary,  gaunted  with  scant,  frost-burnt  feed.  The 
riders  were  unkempt,  unshaven,  their  eyes  reddened  by 
much  staring  into  distances  and  the  ceaseless  pour  of  the 
mountain  winds.  The  wind  was  now  blowing  strongly. 
It  was  very  cold,  and  they  bent  against  it,  their  hats 
pulled  low,  their  collars  high.  Along  the  summit  on 
which  they  rode  and  even  along  its  flanks  lay  thin  snow, 
the  first  of  the  coming  winter.  But  above,  on  the  higher 
ranges,  it  lay  thickly  white  on  the  peaks  and  in  the  great 
gulches,  promise  of  the  twenty  or  thirty  or  forty  feet  of 
it  which  would  fall  before  Spring,  as  it  had  fallen  on 
that  high  roof  of  the  world  for  ages. 

On  the  second  day  on  the  Copper  the  fugitives  had 
discovered  that  they  had  not  shaken  off  pursuit.  It  clung 
to  them  doggedly,  tenaciously.  Once  through  binoculars 
they  had  seen  their  pursuers  across  the  width  of  a  moun- 
tain valley.  Little  figures,  seven  of  them,  had  ridden 
across  the  field  of  the  lens  focused  on  a  barren  patch  of 
hillside.  They  could  make  a  very  fair  guess  at  the 
identity  of  some  of  the  men.  With  the  discovery  they 
had  made  extra  speed. 

Then  they  had  got  off  the  trail,  which  was  ancient, 
faint,  overgrown.  Left  to  himself  Gavin,  who  was  the 
pilot,  would  likely  have  steered  a  correct  course,  for  he 
had  much  of  that  intuition  which  for  lack  of  a  better 

399 


4oo         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

term  may  be  called  sense  of  direction,  and  an  eye  for 
the  general  configuration  of  country.  But  he  was  in  a 
hurry  and  his  brothers  obtruded  advice.  And  so  Gavin 
went  astray.  Half  a  day's  travel  converted  suspicion 
of  this  to  certainty.  The  only  thing  to  do  was  to  angle 
forward  in  the  general  direction  in  which  the  old  trail 
might  be  supposed  to  lie. 

It  is  one  thing  to  travel  following  the  line  of  least 
resistance ;  but  it  is  quite  another  to  hold  for  any  definite 
objective  point.  Immediately,  obstacles  interposed.  All 
of  a  sudden,  as  it  seemed,  things  went  wrong.  Their 
way  was  barred  by  swift  creeks,  rocks,  tangled  wind- 
falls piled  high.  These  had  to  be  circumnavigated.  One 
pack  pony  was  drowned  in  a  sudden  dip  of  what  looked 
like  a  fordable  stream.  The  other  slipped,  sprained 
his  shoulder  and  could  not  travel.  They  shot  him,  and 
took  his  load  between  them.  At  last  they  regained  what 
was  presumably  the  old  trail.  The  one  redeeming  feat- 
ure was  that  in  their  wanderings,  they  might  have  shaken 
off  pursuit.  But  the  next  morning,  looking  back,  behind 
and  below  them  but  on  their  line  of  travel,  they  saw 
smoke.  The  pursuit  had  even  gained. 

Now  the  old  trail  grew  better,  clearer,  so  that  they 
did  not  have  to  worry  about  that;  but  they  did  worry 
about  the  way  their  pursuers  hung  on.  Of  what  profit 
was  it  to  traverse  this  sea  of  mountains  and  emerge  with 
these  hunters  at  their  heels?  As  they  rode,  bending 
against  the  keen  wind  that  swept  the  great  ridge,  this 
problem  lay  in  the  mind  of  each. 

But  Blake  viewed  it  from  an  angle  of  his  own.  He 
had  thrown  in  his  lot  with  his  brothers  in  panic,  relying 
on  them,  feeling  the  safety  of  numbers.  But  the  pur- 
suit that  dogged  was  primarily  of  them  and  not  of  him. 
Then  he  had  made  a  mistake  in  joining  them.  Gar- 


THE  RED  AVENGER  401 

land  was  a  wise  bird  in  striking  off  by  himself.  That 
was  what  he  should  have  done.  He  should  have  known 
it  would  be  assumed  that  he  had  gone  with  his  brothers. 
He  had  been  a  fool. 

And  there  was  another  consideration.  He  knew 
very  well  that  the  boys  did  not  intend  to  be  taken.  If  he 
stayed  with  them  he  would  have  to  fight.  Angus  or 
Turkey,  or  even  Rennie  would  shoot  him  on  sight,  and 
in  all  probability  one  or  more  of  them  was  with  the 
bunch  behind.  Obviously  the  thing  to  do  was  to  quit 
his  brothers  and  let  them  draw  the  pursuit.  But  the 
devil  of  it  was  he  had  no  money.  They,  however,  had 
what  they  had  taken  from  Braden.  He  did  not  know 
how  much,  but  it  must  be  a  lot.  They  ought  to  share 
up  with  him.  He  considered  that  he  had  a  grievance 
against  them. 

Toward  evening  they  came  to  the  end  of  the  ridge  and 
began  a  long  descent  into  a  high  valley.  They  struck 
timber  and  shelter  from  the  wind,  and  water.  There 
they  camped.  But  though  feed  was  short  and  frost- 
burnt,  they  dared  not  let  their  horses  range,  keeping 
them  on  ropes. 

Supper  over  they  sat  close  to  the  fire,  smoking,  fol- 
lowing their  own  thoughts.  Gerald  regarded  the  blaze 
through  half-closed  eyes;  Gavin,  motionless  his  chin  in 
his  hand  stared  straight  ahead;  but  young  Larry,  on  one 
elbow,  frowning,  impatient,  jerked  cones  and  bits  of  stick 
at  the  fire  with  vicious  flips  of  the  wrist.  Finally  he  sat 
upright. 

"Oh,  what  the  hell!"  he  said,  in  tones  of  nervous  irri- 
tation. 

Gerald's  half-veiled  eyes  shifted  to  him;  Gavin  turned 
his  head. 

"Well?"  the  latter  asked. 


402         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"What's  the  use  of  this?"  the  young  man  demanded. 
"How  long  are  we  going  to  be  chased  all  over  these 
hills?  I  wouldn't  kick  if  we  were  making  a  get-away — 
but  we  aren't.  This  bunch  is  right  on  our  heels.  What 
good  does  it  do  us  to  keep  going?  Not  a  damned  bit! 
Wherever  we  come  out  they'll  be  right  on  top  of  us." 

"The  kid's  right,"  Gerald  observed. 

"Well?"  said  Gavin  again. 

"Why  not  let  it  come  to  a  show-down  now?"  Larry 
asked.  "Let's  make  a  stand.  There's  only  seven  of 
them,  near  as  we  can  tell."  He  laughed  recklessly. 
"Whoever  loses  out  stays  in  these  damned  hills  for 
keeps." 

"Larry's  right,"  said  Gerald  again. 

"He  may  be,"  Gavin  admitted.  "Make  a  stand, 
hey?"  He  stretched  his  great  arms  slowly.  "Four  of 
us,  seven  of  them.  Well,  I'm  game,  if  you  are.  They're 
apt  to  have  some  pretty  good  men.  Some  of  us  are 
due  to  stay  in  these  hills,  as  Larry  says." 

"Sure,"  Gerald  agreed.  "But  the  hills  are  better  than 
the  pen.  We're  all  in  the  same  boat." 

"I  don't  know  about  that,"  Blake  put  in. 

"Since  you  mention  it,"  said  Gerald,  "maybe  we're 
not.  If  young  Turkey  or  Rennie  is  with  that  bunch 
they're  out  to  get  you."  Blake  shifted  uneasily,  and 
Gerald  sneered.  "I'll  bet  a  hundred  they  do  get  you, 
too." 

"You  want  the  big  end,"  said  young  Larry. 

"You  talk  about  being  in  the  same  boat,"  said  Blake. 
"Well,  I  didn't  shoot  Braden,  nor  get  any  of  his  money. 
You  held  out  on  me.  You  thought  you  could  get  it 
yourselves.  You  wouldn't  let  me  in  on  it." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  why  the  devil  should  I  help  you  stand  off  that 


THE  RED  AVENGER  403 

bmch,  then?     They're  after  you,  not  me." 

"Has  anybody  asked  you  to  ?"  Gerald  retorted.  "And 
nooody  asked  you  to  come  with  us,  if  it  comes  to  that." 

''You  had  the  fear  of  God  in  your  heart  and  you 
begged  to  come,"  Larry  told  him.  "You  say  you  shot 
up  Mackay,  but  you  wouldn't  tell  why.  And  now,  when 
things  are  getting  hot,  you  want  to  quit  and  sneak  off 
by  yourself.  I  know  what  you're  thinking.  Quit  and 
be  damned,  then !  You  never  were  any  good.  You  never 
had  the  sand  of  a  white  rabbit." 

Blake  blustered,  cursing  his  younger  brother.  The 
latter  leaped  to  his  feet.  But  Gavin  interposed. 

"Sit  down,  Larry.  Blake,  do  you  want  to  quit  us?  If 
you  do,  say  so.  There  are  no  strings  on  you." 

"If  I  did  want  to,  I  couldn't,"  Blake  growled.  "You 
know  blame'  well  I  haven't  got  any  money." 

Gavin  eyed  him  in  silence  for  a  moment. 

"I'll  fix  the  money  part,"  he  said.  Reaching  into  his 
warbag  he  drew  forth  a  package  of  bills.  He  split  it  in 
half  without  counting,  tossing  one  half  to  Blake  as  he 
would  have  tossed  a  bone  to  a  dog.  "There  you  are! 
Anything  else?" 

"Well,  I  don't  want — "  Blake  began,  but  Gavin  cut 
him  short. 

"You  needn't  lie.  I've  seen  this  in  the  back  of  your 
mind  for  days.  You'll  go  now,  whether  you  want  to 
or  not !  Our  trails  fork  in  the  morning,  and  you  play 
your  own  hand.  But  if  you  try  to  save  your  hide  by 
helping  that  bunch  back  there,  I'll  kill  you.  And  that's 
cold!" 

Blake  could  not  meet  the  cold  blue  eyes  that  bored 
into  his. 

"You  held  out  on  me  in  the  first  place,"  he  said. 
"This  is  your  show,  not  mine." 


404         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You — "  Larry  began. 

"Shut  up !"  said  Gavin.  "Let  him  alone.  Take  what 
grub  you  want  in  the  morning,  Blake,  and  go  your  own 
way.  And  now  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

He  rolled  his  blanket  around  him  and  lay  down.  Ger- 
ald and  Larry  followed  his  example.  Blake,  to  show 
his  indifference,  set  by  the  fire  for  a  time,  smoking 
sullenly;  but  soon  he  too  turned  in. 

It  was  dark  when  he  awoke,  but  Gavin  was  already 
cooking  breakfast,  Larry  and  Gerald  rolling  blankets. 
He  shared  the  meal,  but  nobody  spoke  to  him.  Larry 
brought  in  three  horses,  but  Blake  had  to  go  for  his  own. 
Fresh  snow,  fallen  in  the  night,  lay  on  the  ground,  but 
it  was  merely  a  ski  ft  which  would  go  with  the  sun. 

The  east  was  rose  and  gold  when  they  mounted.  High 
to  the  westward  the  sun,  as  yet  invisible,  struck  the 
eastern  face  of  a  great  snow-wrapped  peak,  playing  on 
it  dazzlingly.  The  cold  of  the  high  altitudes  nipped; 
the  breath  of  the  gaunt  horses  hung  in  steam. 

At  the  head  of  the  little  cavalcade  Gavin  led  the  way 
down  a  sloping  shoulder  into  the  valley.  Blake  fol- 
owed,  uncertain  what  to  do.  When  the  valley  opened 
Gavin  pulled  up. 

"Here's  where  we  break,  Blake." 

"All  right,"  he  replied  sullenly.  "Go  ahead.  I'm  not 
stopping  you." 

"I  said  we  broke  here." 

"I've  got  to  get  out  of  these  mountains,  haven't  I? 
This  is  the  only  way." 

"You  wanted  to  quit  us,"  said  Gavin,  "and  now  you 
have  to." 

"All  right,"  Blake  replied.  "I'll  quit  you,  if  you  want 
it  that  way." 

Without  a  word  of  farewell  his  brothers  rode  on. 


THE  RED  AVENGER  405 

Blake  watched  them  go.  Their  wordless  contempt  had 
stung  him,  and  he  hated  them.  He  hoped  sincerely 
that  they  would  be  caught. 

His  own  immediate  plans  were  simple.  He  would 
ride  a  few  miles  off  the  trail  till  Bush  and  his  posse 
went  by.  Then  he  would  make  up  mind  just  what  to  do. 
He  might  take  the  back  trail  when  they  had  gone  on. 
He  would  see. 

He  took  care  to  leave  the  trail  on  rocky  ground.  The 
thin  snow  which  still  lay  was  unfortunate,  but  did  not 
greatly  matter  once  he  was  off  the  trail.  In  an  hour  or 
two  it  would  be  gone.  He  rode  for  a  mile,  which  for 
his  purpose  was  as  good  as  five  or  ten,  and  dismounting 
let  his  horse  feed.  He  found  a  place  where  the  sun 
struck  warmly,  filled  his  pipe  and  lay  down,  his  baclj: 
against  a  rock. 

He  counted  the  money  which  Gavin  had  thrown  him. 
It  amounted  to  more  than  two  thousand  dollars.  That 
would  help  some.  He  was  better  off  than  if  he  had 
stayed  with  his  brothers.  Lord,  yes!  He  was  safe  as  a 
church. 

His  eyes  half-closed,  he  enjoyed  his  pipe,  thinking- 
things  over.  He  made  a  mess  of  that  Mackay  business. 
When  you  came  right  down  to  it,  he  should  not  have 
laid  hands  on  Faith.  But  he  would  have  had  the  deeds 
out  of  her  if  Garland  had  not  weakened.  But  for  Gar- 
land there  would  have  been  no  necessity  for  this  get- 
away. Garland  had  got  him  into  the  thing.  Damn 
Garland!  And  damn  women!  They  were  all  fools. 
Take  that  klootch.  How  the  devil  could  she  expect  a. 
white  man  to  marry  her?  She  wasn't  bad  for  a  klootch, 
but  as  a  wife — good  night! 

The  pipe  had  lost  its  flavor.  Blake  tapped  it  out, 
rose,  and  started  back  with  an  involuntary  cry.  Just 


406         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

back  of  the  rock  against  which  he  had  been  leaning  stood 
Paul  Sam. 

The  old  Indian  raised  his  rifle. 

"S'pose  you  move,"  he  said,  "you  go  mimaloos." 
Blake  froze  into  immobility.  "You  go  mimaloos,  any- 
way," the  old  man  added;  "but  first  me  talk  to  you." 

A  great  fear  laid  hold  upon  Blake.  The  old  Indian's 
features  were  impassive,  but  his  eyes  were  bleak  and 
hard.  He  lowered  the  rifle  to  the  level  of  his  waist, 
but  its  muzzle  still  dominated.  Blake's  rifle  leaned 
against  the  rock,  out  of  reach.  His  six-shooter  was  in 
his  belt,  but  he  knew  better  than  to  try  for  it.  He  stood 
motionless,  staring  at  the  seamed  features  of  the  Indian. 

"Me  talk  to  you,"  Paul  Sam  repeated  in  soft,  cluck- 
ing gutterals.  "Ole  man,  me;  young  man,  you.  You 
white  man ;  me  Injun.  Very  ole  man,  me.  All  the  men 
that  were  young  with  me  go  mimaloos  many  years  ago. 
My  wife  she  go  mimaloos.  My  son  and  his  wife  they 
go  mimaloos.  Only  one  of  my  blood  is  left,  my  son's 
daughter — Mary  I" 

He  paused  for  a  moment. 

"There  is  no  one  else  of  my  blood.  Me  raise  hiyu 
kuitan,  hiyu  moosmoos,  all  for  her  when  me  die.  One 
time  this  country  all  Injun.  Pretty  soon  no  more  Injun. 
All  white.  Injun  way  no  good  now.  All  white  man's 
way.  So  me  send  her  to  school  to  learn  the  white  man's 
way. 

"She  come  back  to  my  house.  When  me  look  at  her 
me  think  of  many  things,  of  many  people  who  go  mima- 
loos many  years  ago.  It  is  good  for  an  ole  man  to  have 
the  young  of  his  blood  in  his  house,  for  in  them  his 
youth  lives. 

"There  comes  a  time  when  this  girl  who  is  the  last 
of  my  blood,  is  sad.  No  more  laugh;  no  more  sing. 


THE  RED  AVENGER  407 

Me  not  know  why.  Me  ole  man.  Mebbe-so  me 
blind  ole  fool.  Me  never  think  of — that !  When  she 
is  dead — then  me  hear  of  you!" 

The  Indian  paused.  Blake  spoke,  moistening  dry 
lips. 

"I  hadn't  anything  to  do  with  Mary." 

"You  lie !"  the  old  man  returned.  "You  bring  shame 
on  her  and  on  me.  So  me  kill  you." 

There  was  no  passion  in  his  voice;  but  there  was 
finality,  judgment  inexorable.  It  was  the  logical  conclu- 
sion, worked  out,  demonstrated  according  to  his  rules. 

Blake's  face  blanched.  In  fancy,  as  he  stared  at  it, 
he  could  see  the  red  stab  of  flame  leap  and  feel  the 
shock  of  lead.  Was  there  no  way  of  escape  ?  He  glanced 
around.  There  was  nothing  save  the  mountain  wilder- 
ness, the  serene  heights  of  the  peaks,  the  blue  autumn 
sky,  a  soaring  golden  eagle.  His  eyes  came  back  to 
the  rifle  muzzle.  His  mouth  opened,  but  words  would 
not  come. 

"Mebbe-so  you  like  pray?"  Paul  Sam  suggested 
calmly.  Blake  found  his  voice. 

"I  have  money,"  he  said.  "Look!  lots  of  money. 
Take  it.  For  God's  sake,  don't  kill  me.  I  didn't  mean — 
I  didn't  know — " 

For  the  first  time  a  glint  of  bitter  anger  leaped  into 
the  old  man's  eyes. 

"Money!"  he  said.  "You  think  I  take  money  for  a 
dead  woman  of  my  blood  and  for  my  shame.  Now  me 
kill  you  all  same  wolf!" 

The  rifle  rose,  steadied,  pointed  at  Blake's  heart. 
The  old  finger  crooked  on  the  trigger.  The  hammer 
fell  with  a  click.  For  some  reason — worn  firing  pin, 
weak  spring,  or  defective  cartridge — the  weapon  failed 
to  explode. 


408         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Paul  Sam's  hand  jerked  down  with  the  lever  to 
throw  another  shell  into  place.  But  Blake  in  that  in- 
stant of  reprieve  took  his  chance.  With  a  leap  he  hurled 
himself  forward  and  caught  the  barrel,  throwing  it  aside, 
feeling  the  flame  of  the  explosion  heat  the  metal  beneath 
his  fingers.  The  report  smashed  out  in  the  stillness  of 
the  valley,  racketing  and  rolling  against  the  hills. 

Blake  wrenched  the  rifle  from  the  old  man's  hands 
and  threw  it  far.  His  fear  was  gone,  his  face  contorted 
with  passion.  He  reached  for  his  revolver.  As  he  did 
so  Paul  Sam  drew  a  nine-inch  knife  from  its  beaded 
scabbard  and  struck  as  a  snake  strikes. 

With  a  screaming  oath  Blake  shoved  the  muzzle  of 
the  six-shooter  against  him  and  pulled  the  trigger.  The 
blunt  report  was  muffled  by  the  body.  But  again  the 
knife,  now  red  to  the  hilt,  rose  and  fell,  and  again  the 
gun  barked  like  a  kenneled  dog.  And  then  Blake  reeled 
backward,  his  eyes  wide,  the  gun  escaping  from  his 
hand,  and  fell  on  his  back  horribly  asprawl.  With  him 
fell  Paul  Sam.  But  the  old  Indian's  fingers  were  locked 
around  the  haft  of  the  knife,  and  the  haft  stood  out  of 
Blake's  breast.  And  so  they  lay  together  as  the  rolling 
echoes  died  and  the  stillness  of  the  great  hills  came 
again. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

THE  GREAT  SHOW-DOWN 

DOWN  the  slope  from  the  wind-swept  summit  into 
the  valley  rode  the  posse  of  Jake  Bush.    Their 
horses,  too,  were  gaunted  with  scant  feed  and 
hard  work.   Like  the  men  who  had  preceded  them  these 
were  unkempt,  strained  of  eye.      Rennie  rode  in  the 
lead,  his  eyes  on  the  trail.     The  eyes  of  the  others 
prodded  and  tested  the  valley  into  which  they  were 
descending. 

By  various  signs  they  knew  they  were  closing  the  gap 
which  separated  them  from  their  quarry.  When  they 
reached  the  abandoned  camp  they  dismounted  and  Ren- 
nie and  Bush  tested  the  ashes. 

"Warm  where  they  ain't  wet,"  said  Bush.  "This  is 
the  earliest  we've  ever  struck  their  camp  yet.  They 
made  slow  time  yesterday.  Can't  be  many  hours  ahead." 

"Looks  to  me  like  their  horses  is  playin'  out,"  Rennie 
agreed.  "Well,  let's  get  goin'." 

They  rode  on  down  the  valley.  The  trail  was  plain, 
and  the  tracks  of  horses  in  the  vanishing  light  snow. 
They  strung  along  at  a  steady  jog. 

From  the  left,  clean  and  sharp  came  the  vibrant  crash 
of  a  rifle  shot.  Instantly  the  hills  took  it  up,  flinging 
it  in  echoes  back  and  forth.  But  with  the  echoes  came 
other  shots,  not  clear  but  blunt,  muffled,  multiplying  the 
riot  of  sound.  They  jerked  their  horses  to  a  standstill. 

"Not  more  'n  a  mile  away,"  said  Rennie.  "Them 
boys  is  further  ahead.  It  can't  be  them." 

"We'll  darn  soon  see,"  said  Bush. 

409 


410         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

They  turned  in  the  direction  of  the  shots,  spreading, 
out  riding  slowly.  And  presently  they  came  upon  a 
pony  standing  with  dropped  reins. 

"Why,"  Turkey  exclaimed,  "it's  Paul  Sam's !  I'd 
know  that  cayuse  anywhere." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  calico  pony.  Angus,  too 
recognized  it.  If  Paul  Sam  were  there  it  could  be  but 
for  one  purpose. 

"Ride  slow,"  Bush  advised.  We  don't  want  to  over- 
look anything." 

But  in  less  than  five  hundred  yards  they  came  upon 
tragedy.  Paul  Sam  and  Blake  lay  as  they  had  fallen. 
In  the  background  a  gaunt  horse  raised  his  head  for  a 
moment  from  his  browsing. 

They  dismounted,  ringing  the  prostrate  figures 
around.  Bush  removed  his  hat,  not  out  of  respect  for 
the  dead,  but  to  scratch  his  head. 

"Gosh !"  he  observed  inadequately.  Rennie  loosened 
the  old  fingers  from  the  knife  haft  and  made  a  swift 
examination.  He  picked  up  a  rifle  cartridge,  unex- 
ploded,  with  the  cap  faintly  dinted. 

"Missed  fire!"  he  said.  "Then  Blake  took  the  gun 
away  from  him  and  went  for  his  six-shooter  and  the 
old  man  went  for  his  knife.  Lord !" 

Angus  said  nothing.  He  felt  he  had  been  defrauded, 
hardly  used.  By  day  and  by  night  one  vision  had  haunted 
him — Faith's  soft  throat,  bruised  and  discolored.  Just 
so  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  kill  Blake,  with  his 
hands,  repaying  him  measure  for  measure.  His  dis- 
appointment was  bitter. 

"The  old  man  beat  you  to  it,"  said  Rennie,  "but  I 
guess  he  had  the  right  to,  if  he  could." 

Angus  nodded.  It  was  true  enough.  But  Turkey 
was  picking  up  the  scattered  money  which  Blake  had 


THE  GREAT  SHOW-DOWN  41 1 

let  fall.  It  opened  a  field  for  speculation.  No  doubt  this 
was  some  of  Braden's  money,  and  the  brothers  had  div- 
ided with  Blake.  But  why  had  Blake  quit  them?  Bush 
made  a  shrewd  guess. 

"Blake  wasn't  no  game  bird,"  he  said.  "He'd  quit 
any  time  rather  than  go  to  a  show-down.  Mabbe  that 
y/as  what  he  was  tryin'  to  do." 

"And  bumped  into  one,"  said  Rennie.  "But  I  won- 
der! We're  gettin'  close,  and  it  ain't  so  far  to  the  Cache 
now.  It  wouldn't  do  'em  no  good  to  get  there  with  us 
right  behind.  They  might  make  a  stand  and  take  a 
chance." 

"Or  bushwhack  us,"  the  deputy  suggested.  "Us  ridin' 
along  single  file  in  some  bad  place  and  them  shootin' 
from  cover — hell !  we'd  be  down  and  kickin'  before  we 
could  draw  a  gun." 

"That's  so,"  Rennie  replied  thoughtfully.  "We'd  bet- 
ter go  careful.  Well,  I  s'pose  we  better  try  to  bury 
these  dead  folks  while  we're  here." 

"The  Injun,  anyway,"  said  Bush.  "Give  him  the  best 
of  it." 

They  did  the  best  they  could,  and  built  above  with 
stones.  Then  they  went  back  and  took  up  the  pursuit, 
holding  on  till  darkness  hid  the  trail.  By  daylight 
they  were  away,  and  even  earlier  than  before  they  came 
upon  the  deserted  camp. 

And  now  the  old  trail  began  to  ascend.  It  led  into  a 
country  wild  and  rugged,  the  jagged  vertebrae  of  a 
mountain  range  seamed  and  scarred  with  gulch  and 
canon.  It  was  very  bad  for  horses  and  very  hard  work 
for  everybody.  But  signs  showed  that  they  were  very 
near  their  quarry. 

"We're  darn  near  on  top  of  'em,"  said  Rennie,  and 
thereafter  he  rode  with  gun  in  hand. 


412         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

But  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  they  got  their 
first  glimpse  of  the  fugitives,  who  were  rounding  a  bare 
shoulder  ahead  and  above  them.  Two  were  riding  and 
one  was  leading  his  horse.  They  themselves  were  not 
seen  for  a  growth  of  brush  at  that  point  of  the  trail  inter- 
vened. They  looked  to  Brush  for  instructions. 

"There  ain't  much  sun  left  and  they'll  be  goin'  into 
camp  soon,"  the  deputy  said.  "We'll  leave  the  horses 
here  with  one  man,  and  the  rest  of  us  go  ahead.  While 
they're  makin'  camp  we'll  stand  'em  up.  What  say, 
Dave?" 

"Who  stays  with  the  horses?" 

"Turkey,"  Bush  decided.    "He's  the  youngest." 

"I'm  damned  if  I  do,"  Turkey  rebelled.  "Stay  your- 
self. You're  the  oldest." 

Bush  grinned.  "Can't,  sonny,  though  I'd  love  to." 
He  drew  a  dilapidated  pack  of  cards  from  his  pocket 
and  spread  them  fanwise.  "Draw  one.  Low  stays. 
Deuce  is  low." 

Drury  drew  low,  cursed  his  luck.  McClintock  on  one 
knee  lacing  a  shoepack  grinned  at  him. 

"I  wisht  you'd  sponge  off  my  cayuse's  back,  Joe.  He's 
gettin'  sore.  While  you're  about  it,  with  nothin'  else 
to  do,  you  might  go  over  the  whole  lot." 

Drury's  retort  put  his  first  outburst  in  the  shade. 
Laughter  stirred  him  to  fresh  efforts. 

"Now,  boys!"  said  Bush. 

He  took  the  lead,  Rennie  behind  him,  then  Angus. 

Angus  was  glad  to  be  out  of  the  saddle,  and  glad,  too, 
that  the  end  of  the  chase  was  at  hand.  With  the  death 
of  Blake  much  of  his  interest  in  it  had  vanished.  There 
was  still  Gavin,  who  if  Braden's  dying  declaration  was 
to  be  believed  had  killed  his  father.  But  strangely 
enough  he  felt  little  or  no  enmity  toward  him.  He 


THE  GREAT  SHOW-DOWN  4 1 3 

thought  he  should  feel  more.  Turkey,  behind  him, 
spoke. 

"I  guess  this  is  the  finish  of  that  bunch.  If  they 
start  anything,  we  want  to  get  Gavin — if  he  killed 
father." 

Angus  was  silent  for  a  moment.  There  was  the 
possibility  that  it  would  not  be  a  one-sided  affair.  He 
was  not  troubled  for  himself,  but  Turkey  was  rash. 

"Don't  take  any  chances,  kid,  if  there  is  trouble." 

"Not  a  chance,"  Turkey  replied  cheerfully.  "Any- 
body that  beats  me  to  the  trigger  will  have  to  go  some." 

"That  wasn't  what  I  meant.  Look  after  yourself. 
Don't  get  hurt." 

"Are  you  trying  to  tell  me  to  play  it  safe?"  Turkey 
demanded  with  virtuous  indignation.  "Why  I  ought  to 
report  you  to  Bush.  Look  after  yourself.  You're  mar- 
ried. Play  it  safe!  Huh!  You  bet  I  will — with  a  fast 
gun." 

But  the  sun  was  going  down.  Unless  the  fugitives 
suspected  something  they  would  soon  be  making  camp. 
Now  and  then  Bush  stopped  to  listen.  None  now  spoke 
above  a  whisper.  It  was  like  the  last  hundred  yards 
of  a  long,  hard  stalk  of  big  game.  In  this  case  the 
game  was  big  enough,  and  dangerous.  Mistakes  could 
not  be  afforded. 

Bush  stopped  suddenly.  Distinct  in  the  stillness  came 
the  quick  "lick-lock"  of  an  ax.  The  deputy  nodded. 

They  came  upon  the  camp.  It  was  on  a  little  flat  at 
the  mouth  of  a  wild  draw,  a  little  glade  fringed  with 
brush,  through  which  ran  a  trickle  of  a  spring  creek. 
At  one  side  the  horses,  unsaddled,  grazed.  Gavin,  at 
the  other  side,  was  dragging  in  a  dry  pole  for  firewood. 
Gerald  knelt  beside  a  freshly  kindled  fire.  Larry  was 
getting  food  from  a  sack. 


414         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

It  was  Larry  who  saw  them  almost  at  the  instant  they 
saw  him.  He  cried  a  warning.  Gerald  rose  swiftly. 
Gavin  dropped  his  pole.  Bush  stepped  forward  and 
held  up  his  hand. 

"I  want  you  boys,"  he  said. 

"You  can't  have  us,"  Gerald  replied.  "That's  cold, 
Bush." 

"Don't  be  foolish,"  Bush  advised.  "I  want  you,  and 
I'm  going  to  get  you.  And  that's  cold,  too." 

"Then  fly  at  it!"  Gerald  cried,  and  with  the  words 
jerked  his  gun  and  fired. 

Bush  staggered,  twisted  and  went  down ;  but  he  drew 
his  gun  as  he  did  so  and  began  to  shoot  from  the  ground. 
The  lonely  mountain  camp  became  an  inferno  of  shat- 
tering, rolling  sound. 

Angus  felt  his  hat  lift  as  in  a  sudden  squall.  At  the 
same  moment  Turkey  spun  half  around  and  against 
him,  destroying  his  aim. 

"I'm  all  right!"  the  youngster  gasped,  and  in  proof 
of  his  assertion  fired. 

Bustede,  his  right  arm  hanging,  had  dropped  his  rifle 
and  was  struggling  to  draw  his  six-shooter  with  his  left 
hand.  McClintock,  on  one  knee,  was  working  the  lever 
of  his  rifle  like  a  saw.  Reftnie,  a  gun  in  either  hand, 
unhooked  them  in  a  rattling  roar. 

Suddenly  Gerald  pitched  forward  on  his  face.  Larry 
doubled  up  and  went  down.  But  Gavin  was  apparently 
unhurt.  He  saw  his  brothers  fall.  For  an  instant  he 
stood  looking  at  them.  Then  he  turned  and  bounded 
for  the  sheltering  brush.  With  the  rush  of  a  bull  moose 
he  crashed  into  it  while  a  sleet  of  lead  cut  twigs  around 
him,  and  disappeared. 

"Git  him!"  Bush  croaked  from  the  ground.  "Git 
him,  somebody.  Oh,  sink  my  soul  for  all  rotten  shoot- 


THE  GREAT  SHOW-DOWN  415 

jinM    Six  guns — and  he  makes  the  timber!    Agh-rl" 

Angus  stooped  for  an  instant  over  Turkey.  The 
youngster,  very  white  of  face,  was  sitting  on  the  ground; 
but  he  was  outcursing  Bush. 

"Are  you  hurt  much?    Where?" 

"Not  much.  My  shoulder.  Get  him,  damn  him! 
Get  him  for  father!" 

Angus  found  Rennie  running  beside  him.  It  was  im- 
possible to  trail  the  fugitive.  All  they  could  do  was 
to  keep  on  up  the  draw  and  trust  to  luck.  But  the  pace 
and  the  rough  ground  soon  told  on  Rennie. 

"I  can't  travel  no  more,"  he  gasped.  "Too  old.  You 
go  ahead." 

"Go  back  and  help  the  boys,"  Angus  said.  "There's 
a  moon  to-night  and  I  may  not  be  back.  If  I  don't  find 
him  I'll  come  in  in  the  morning." 

"Be  darn  sure  you  do  come  in.  Don't  take  no 
chances." 

Angus  ran  on  up  the  draw.  Now  that  he  was  alone 
he  began  to  put  forth  his  strength  and  speed  while  the 
light  should  last.  He  was  sure  that  Gavin  would  make 
for  the  higher  ground.  He  would  cross  the  summit  of 
that  range,  and  go  ahead  for  the  Cache.  Though  he 
had  neither  food  nor  outfit  he  had  his  six-shooter  and 
presumably  ammunition  and  matches.  Angus  knew  that 
he  himself  would  suffer  little  more  than  inconvenience 
if  he  were  in  Gavin's  place. 

The  draw  narrowed,  and  steep  hills  closed  in  on 
either  hand.  He  turned  to  the  right  and  began  to  climb. 
Darkness  overtook  him  and  he  stopped.  The  cold  chilled 
his  sweating  body  with  the  cessation  of  motion,  but 
Gavin  was  as  badly  off.  When  the  moon  rose  he  went  on 
again,  but  it  was  slow  work.  Objects  were  distorted. 
Shadows  lay  where  he  would  have  had  light.  Once  he 


416         THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

slipped  and  fell,  slithering  twenty  feet  and  barely  saving 
himself  from  an  almost  perpendicular  drop  of  a  hundred. 
He  crawled  back  with  difficulty,  but  his  rifle  was  gone. 
He  had  heard  it  clang  far  below  him.  However,  he  had 
his  belt  gun,  and  so  was  on  a  par  with  Gavin. 

His  objective  was  what  seemed  to  be  a  notch  in  the 
summit.  It  was  what  he  would  make  for  were  he  in 
Gavin's  place.  He  toiled  upward  methodically,  with- 
out hurry  now,  for  there  might  be  a  long  trail  ahead. 
If  Gavin  could  go  to  the  Cache  so  could  he.  The  tim- 
ber began  to  thin  out,  to  stunt.  Trees  were  dwarfed, 
twisted  by  the  mountain  winds,  mere  miniatures.  Pres- 
ently they  ceased  altogether.  He  was  above  timber- 
line. 

There  the  thin  snow  partially  covered  the  ground, 
increasing  the  difficulty  of  travel.  But  its  actinic  qual- 
ities gave  more  light.  It  was  past  midnight,  and  the 
moon  was  well  up.  He  had  been  traveling  for  more 
than  seven  hours. 

For  a  moment  he  paused  to  rest,  his  lungs  feeding 
greedily  on  the  thin,  cold  air,  and  surveyed  the  scene 
below.  It  was  a  black  fur  of  treetops,  rolling,  undu- 
lating, cleft  with  lines  of  greater  darkness  indicating 
greater  depths.  He  could  look  over  the  tops  of  lesser 
mountains.  Above  were  the  peaks  of  the  range,  whitened 
spires  against  the  sky. 

In  those  far  heights  of  the  mountain  wilderness  one 
seemed  to  touch  the  rim  of  space  itself.  The  moon, 
the  night,  the  height  produced  an  effect  of  unspeakable 
vastness.  It  seemed  to  press  in,  to  enfold  the  tiny  atom 
crawling  upon  and  clinging  to  the  surface  of  the  earth. 
There  finite  and  infinite  made  contact.  It  was  like  the 
world's  end,  the  Ultima  Thule  of  ancient  man. 

Some  such  thoughts,  vague,  scarcely  formed,  passed 


THE  GREAT  SHOW-DOWN  4 1 7 

through  his  mind.  The  ranch,  ploughed  land,  houses, 
seemed  to  belong  to  another  world. 

Once  more  he  began  to  climb,  and  now  that  he  was 
close  to  the  summit  the  going  was  easier.  Suddenly  he 
stopped.  There,  clear  in  the  moonlight,  was  the  track 
of  a  moccasin-clad  foot. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  it  was  Gavin's.  Knowing 
his  own  pace  Angus  knew  that  the  big  man  could  not 
be  far  ahead.  No  doubt  he  would  keep  going,  over  the 
summit  and  down  the  other  side,  for  timber.  Once  in 
the  timber,  with  a  fire,  he  would  rest.  His  trail  across 
would  be  covered  by  the  first  wind.  He  would  not 
suspect  that  any  one  would  or  could  follow  him  by  night. 

Angus  followed  the  trail  easily  by  the  bright  moon- 
light, noting  grimly  that  the  length  of  the  stride  was 
almost  identical  with  his  own.  The  prints  were  clean, 
showing  that  the  feet  had  been  cleanly  lifted  and  set 
down,  token  of  energy  unimpaired. 

When  he  reached  the  summit  he  took  a  careful  sur- 
vey. It  was  a  desolate  plateau,  swept  and  scoured  by 
the  winds  and  rains  and  snow  of  unnumbered  centuries. 
On  it  nothing  grew.  Here  and  there  bowlders  loomed 
blackly.  But  nothing  moved.  Apparently,  it  was  as  bare 
of  life  as  the  dead  mountains  of  the  moon.  The  trail 
led  straight  on. 

Satisfied  of  this,  Angus  followed  the  trail  at  speed. 
Now  and  then  it  turned  out  to  avoid  a  bowlder,  but 
otherwise  it  went  straight  ahead,  as  though  no  doubt  of 
direction  existed  in  its  maker's  mind.  Presently  it  swung 
around  a  huge  rock  and  then  turned  north.  Angus 
glanced  casually  at  the  bowlder  and  passed  by;  but  he 
had  taken  no  more  than  three  strides  in  the  new  direc- 
tion when  a  voice  behind  him  commanded : 

"Stop !     Put  up  your  hands !" 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

STRONG   MEN 

r~T1HE  tone  forbade  disobedience  or  delay.     Angus 
turned  to  face  a  gun  in  the  hands  of  Gavin  French. 
The  latter  peered  at  him  for  a  moment  and  laughed 
shortly. 

"I  thought  it  was  you,"  he  said.  "Nobody  else  could 
have  made  as  good  time.  You're  a  good  guesser,  too. 
Well — unbuckle  your  belt  with  your  left  hand  and  let 
it  drop.  Keep  your  right  hand  up.  That's  it.  Now 
step  away  from  it." 

Having  no  option  Angus  obeyed,  cursing  himself  in- 
ternally for  being  fooled  by  the  old  trick  of  doubling 
back.  Gavin  lowered  his  gun. 

"You  can  take  'em  down,"  he  said.  "Now  what's 
the  next  play?" 

"That's  up  to  you,"  Angus  told  him. 

"Does  look  like  it,"  the  big  man  admitted.  "But  you 
know  damned  well  I  can't  shoot  you  in  cold  blood.  If  I 
roped  you  up  here  and  left  you,  you  might  not  be 
found.  I  can't  take  you  with  me.  So  it's  partly  up  to 
you.  This  is  hell's  own  rotten  mess  from  start  to  finish. 
I  knew  it  would  be,  from  the  time  Jerry  lost  his  head 
and  plugged  Braden.  I  suppose  he's  dead?" 

"Yes." 

"And  Jerry  and  Larry,  too  ?" 

"I  think  so.    I  didn't  wait  to  make  sure." 

"Sure  to  be,"  Gavin  said  calmly.  "Jerry  came  ahead 
on  his  face  and  Larry  wilted  in  a  bunch.  They  got  it, 
all  right.  I  had  a  fool's  luck.  Any  of  your  bunch  get  it 
hard?" 

418 


STRONG  MEN  419 

"I  don't  think  so.     We  were  lucky." 

"You  sure  were.  We  were  going  to  hold  you  up  to- 
morrow, if  we  found  a  good  place,  but  you  got  the 
jump  on  us.  You  were  closer  than  we  thought.  So  it 
seems  I'm  the  only  one  left,  bar  Blake,  and  I  don't  count 
him.  He  quit  us  yesterday  to  save  his  skin.  Maybe  he 
was  wise,  at  that." 

"Blake  is  dead." 

The  big  man  exclaimed  in  astonishment.  "Dead! 
How?" 

Angus  told  him.  Also  he  told  why  he  himself  had 
hunted  Blake.  Gavin  French  uttered  a  deep  maledic- 
tion. 

"If  I  had  known  this,"  he  said,  "he  would  never  have 
come  with  us.  I  think  I  would  have  handled  him  my- 
self. But  I  don't  suppose  you  believe  that." 

"Yes,"  Angus  returned.  "You  are  a  man,  and  he 
never  was." 

Gavin  French  eyed  him  for  a  moment.  "I  guess 
you're  right — about  him,  anyway,"  he  said.  "He  got 
what  was  coming  to  him.  Well,  that  leaves  me — and 
Kathleen."  He  shook  his  head  moodily.  "I  tell  you 
straight,  Mackay,  that  I'm  not  going  to  be  taken.  I've 
stood  you  up,  but  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to  do 
with  you.  If  you'll  give  me  your  word  to  go  back  to 
your  bunch  and  give  me  that  much  start,  you  may  pick 
up  your  gun  and  go." 

"Will  you  answer  me  one  question  straight?"  Angus 
asked. 

"Anything  you  like,"  the  big  man  promised.  "It 
won't  make  much  difference  now." 

"Gavin  French,  did  you  kill  my  father?" 

The  big  man  started  violently.  "Did  I —  What 
makes  you  ask  that?" 


420*       THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"You  promised  me  a  straight  answer.  But  Braden 
said  so — before  he  died." 

Gavin  French  did  not  reply  immediately.  "Braden 
was  a  rotten  liar  all  his  life,"  he  said  at  last.  "But  I 
promised  you  a  straight  answer,  and  I  keep  my  word. 
Yes,  I  killed  your  father — at  least,  I  suppose  that's  what 
it  comes  to." 

Angus  drew  a  long  breath.  Its  hissing  intake  was 
clear  in  the  silence. 

"You  suppose  I"  he  said.  "My  father  was  not  armed. 
Do  you  think  I  will  let  you  go,  gun  or  no  gun.  One  of 
us  stays  on  this  summit,  Gavin  French!" 

"In  your  place  I  would  say  just  that,"  Gavin  admit' 
ted.  "But  I  am  going  to  tell  you  how  it  happened;  and 
then  I  am  going  to  let  you  take  up  your  gun  and  do 
what  you  like.  And  just  remember  that  if  I  wanted  to 
lie  I  would  have  done  it  in  the  first  place." 

He  paused  a  moment  frowning  at  Angus. 

"The  day  your  father  was  shot,"  he  began,  "I  was 
on  the  range  looking  for  horses,  and  I  had  my  rifle.  In 
the  afternoon  I  was  riding  up  the  long  coulee  by  Cat 
Creek  when  I  heard  a  shot  ahead,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
I  came  upon  a  steer  staggering  along.  Then  he  rolled 
over  and  lay  kicking.  I  got  off  my  horse  and  saw  your 
brand  on  him,  and  that  he  had  been  shot.  Just  then 
your  father  came  tearing  up  the  coulee.  He  saw  me 
beside  the  dead  steer,  my  rifle  in  my  hand,  and  naturally 
he  thought  I  had  done  the  killing.  He  had  no  earthly 
use  for  me,  and  besides  that  he  and  I  had  some  trouble 
a  week  before  over  a  two-year-old.  So  when  he  rode 
up  I  knew  there  was  going  to  be  more  trouble,  and  I  was 
dead  right. 

"He  didn't  give  me  much  chance  to  explain,  and  he 
didn't  get  off  his  horse.  He  damned  me  for  a  liar  and 


STRONG  MEN  421 

a  rustler,  and  suddenly  he  reached  down  and  grabbed 
the  barrel  of  my  rifle  with  both  hands.  I've  often  wished 
I  had  let  him  take  it,  but  by  that  time  he  was  so  damned 
mad  that  I  wasn't  going  to  let  him  have  a  gun,  and  I 
was  pretty  hot  myself.  $o  I  hung  onto  it  and  tried  to 
twist  it  out  of  his  hands.  Then  his  horse  started  to 
back.  I  was  dragged  along,  holding  to  the  gun,  and 
my  hold  slipped.  I  swear  I  don't  know  how  it  happened, 
unless  my  slipping  hand  lifted  the  hammer,  but  anyway 
the  rifle  went  off. 

"He  let  go  then,  and  his  horse  bolted.  I  didn't  know 
he  was  badly  hurt,  because  he  was  riding  all  right.  In 
fact  I  wasn't  sure  he  was  hit  at  all.  That' was  the  last 
I  saw  of  him.  My  own  horse  was  frightened  by  the 
shot  and  it  took  me  some  time  to  catch  him.  I  rode  two 
or  three  miles  looking  for  your  father,  but  I  was  afraid 
that  would  lead  to  more  trouble,  because  I  thought  the 
first  thing  he  would  do  would  be  to  organize  himself 
with  a  gun.  So  I  went  home  and  kept  my  mouth  shut. 
The  next  day  I  heard  he  was  dead.  That's  all.  And 
there's  your  gun.  If  you  feel  like  playing  even,  go 
to  it." 

But  Angus  as  he  listened  knew  that  Gavin  French  was 
telling  the  exact  truth.  He  could  visualize  the  tragedy 
of  that  bygone  day  of  his  boyhood.  His  father's  actions, 
as  related  by  Gavin,  were  in  exact  keeping  with  his 
character.  But  in  the  end,  though  convinced  that  Gavin 
had  fired  with  intent  to  kill,  he  had  died  in  grim  silence 
rather  than  leave  to  his  son  a  heritage  of  hate  and 
revenge. 

"I  believe  it  happened  as  you  say  it  did,"  he  said. 
"There  is  nothing  to  play  even  for." 

The  big  man  sighed  deeply.  "It's  not  every  man 
who  would  believe  it,"  he  said;  "but  it's  true.  I  know 


422          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

I  should  have  come  forward  and  told  how  it  was,  then, 
but  I  had  only  my  own  word.  If  your  father  had  told 
anybody  about  the  two-year-old  and  the  words  we  had 
had,  it  would  have  been  bad.  So  I  just  kept  quiet." 

"How  did  Braden  know?" 

"From  Tenas  Pete.  I  believe  that  Siwash  shot  the 
steer  himself  and  saw  what  happened.  Braden  told  me 
the  Indian  had  told  him  the  whole  thing.  That  was  a 
year  after,  and  Pete  had  broken  his  neck  with  a  bad 
cayuse.  Braden  tried  to  hold  it  over  me  till  I  put  the 
fear  of  God  in  his  heart  one  night  when  we  were  alone. 
I  wouldn't  do  his  dirty  work,  and  I  didn't  know  till  too 
late  what  Blake  and  Jerry  had  done.  I  mean  about 
your  ditch.  Larry  wasn't  in  that.  I  couldn't  give  my 
brothers  away,  could  I?  Oh,  it's  a  rotten  mess  from 
start  to  finish !" 

He  stared  gloomily  across  the  moonlit  spaces,  frown- 
ing heavily. 

"So  there's  the  whole  thing,"  he  said.  "I've  felt  like 
telling  you  before,  but  what  was  the  use?  From  first 
to  last  my  family  has  done  you  dirt.  Well,  I'm  the 
only  man  left,  and  I'll  pay  for  the  crowd.  I'll  be  the 
goat.  Short  of  surrendering,  which  I  won't  do,  I'll 
give  you  any  satisfaction  you  like.  If  you  want  it  with 
a  gun,  all  right.  But  we're  two  big,  skookum  men.  I 
don't  know  which  of  us  is  the  better,  though  I  think  I 
am.  If  you  can  best  me  to-night,  in  a  fair  fight  without 
weapons,  I'll  go  back  with  you;  and  if  I  best  you  you 
go  back  alone.  What  do  you  say?" 

Angus  knew  that  Gavin  meant  it.  The  proposal  was 
primitive  in  conception  and  simplicity.  Perhaps  because 
of  that  it  appealed  to  him  strongly. 

"There  are  not  many  men  who  would  make  that 
offer,"  he  said. 


STRONG  MEN  423 

"I  would  not  make  it  to  any  other  man,"  Gavin  re- 
plied. "Does  it  go?" 

"No." 

The  big  man  threw  out  his  hands  in  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"Then  what  the  devil  does?"  he  demanded.  "Why 
not?  You're  no  more  afraid  of  me  than  I  am  of  you. 
What  do  you  want?" 

"Nothing,"  Angus  said.  "Now  that  I  know  how  my 
father  died,  I  have  nothing  against  you.  Braden  I  care 
nothing  about.  So  I  am  going  back  the  way  I  came. 
But  I  am  glad  you  do  not  think  me  a  coward." 

Gavin  French  drew  a  deep  breath  and  his  cold  blue 
eyes  for  a  moment  held  a  curiously  soft  expression. 

"Mackay,"  he  said,  "it  probably  sounds  queer,  but  I 
have  always  liked  you.  And  I  liked  you  better  after 
that  little  fuss  we  had  on  Christmas  night,  for  then  I 
knew  you  were  strong  as  I  am  strong,  and  I  hoped  some 
day,  for  the  pure  fun  of  it,  we  might  see  which  of  us 
was  the  better  man.  A  coward?  Lord,  no!  I  know 
why  you  are  doing  this.  I'll  bet  you  saw  Kathleen." 

"Yes,"  Angus  admitted,  "I  saw  her.  She  told  me. 
But  that's  not — " 

"You  needn't  lie  about  it,"  Gavin  said  gruffly.  "That 
sort  of  thing  is  about  all  you  would  lie  about.  She's  a 
good  girl.  I — I'm  fond  of  her."  He  hesitated  over  the 
admission.  "We  were  a  queer  bunch — our  family. 
Stand-off.  No  slush.  Afraid  to  show  that  we  were 
fond  of  each  other.  That  was  the  way  with  Kit  and 
me.  If  I  can  make  this,  it  will  be  different  in  the  future. 
I'm  not  pulling  any  repentance  stuff,  you  savvy.  What's 
done  is  done,  and  it  can't  be  helped.  Well,  it's  time  I 
was  moving." 

"How   nre   you   fixed   for  matches   and   smoking?" 


424          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"None  too  well — if  you  can  spare  either.'* 

Angus  handed  over  what  he  had  in  his  pockets.  "I 
wish  you  luck,"  he  said.  "I  hope  you  make  it — clean." 

"I'll  make  it,"  Gavin  replied  calmly,  "if  it's  my 
luck,  and  if  it  isn't  I  won't.  It  won't  make  any  differ- 
ence to  anybody  but  Kit.  If  it  wasn't  for  her  I  wouldn't 
care — either  way." 

"Don't  worry  about  her.  We  will  see  that  she  wants 
for  nothing.  Her  home  will  be  with  us  if  she  will  make 
it  there,  till  you  are  ready  for  her." 

"That's  white  of  you,"  Gavin  said  with  something 
very  like  emotion  in  his  voice;  "but  she'd  better  do  as 
we  had  arranged.  Tell  her  I'll  make  it  sure.  And 
tell  Faith — if  you  don't  mind — that  I  said  her  husband 
was  a  good  man — oh,  a  damned  good  man! — every 
way."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "Shake?"  he  said 
and  held  out  his  hand. 

Their  grips  met  hard. 

"Well,  so  long,"  said  Gavin. 

"So  long,"  said  Angus. 

The  big  man  nodded  and  turned  north.  Angus  turned 
south.  In  a  hundred  paces  he  looked  back.  Gavin, 
already  indistinct  in  the  deceptive  moonlight  was  stand- 
ing at  the  top  of  a  slight  rise  doing  likewise.  He  waved 
his  hand,  turned,  and  the  rise  hid  him  from  view. 
Though  Angus  watched  for  some  moments  he  did  not 
reappear.  He  had  crossed  the  divide. 

Then  Angus,  too,  turned  again,  and  realizing  for  the 
first  time  that  the  night  cold  of  the  height  had  chilled 
him  to  the  bone  struck  a  brisk  pace  down  the  southern 
slope;  while  behind  him  a  rising  wind  broomed  the  dry 
snow  of  the  desolate  summit,  effacing  all  trace  of  the 
trespassing  feet  of  men. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

PEACE 

ANGUS  was  riding  up  to  the  French  ranch.     He 
had  just  parted  from  his  companions.     Their 
homeward  progress  had  been  slow  because  of  the 
wounded  men.   Turkey  and  Rennie  had  gone  on  toward 
the  home  ranch,  and  Bush  and  the  other  toward  town. 
But  he  had  turned  off  the  trail  to  see  Kathleen.     He 
hated  his  errand,  but  it  was  better  that  he  should  tell 
her  than  leave  it  to  a  stranger.     He  would  be  glad  to 
get  it  over  and  go  home — to  Faith. 

As  he  approached  the  house  he  saw  her.  Apparently 
she  had  seen  him  coming,  for  she  came  down  to  greet 
him.  He  dismounted  stiffly.  He  felt  her  eyes  search- 
ing his  face. 

"Well?"  she  queried.     He  shook  his  head. 

"I  am  sorry,  Kathleen.     It  is  bad  news." 

"I  expected  it,"  she  said  quietly.  "Tell  me  about 
it— all!" 

He  told  her  the  main  facts,  omitting  details.  When 
he  had  concluded  she  sat  motionless,  her  eyes  on  the 
glory  of  the  evening  sky  above  the  western  ranges. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said  again. 

"I  understand,"  she  said.  "You  are  sorry  that  it  had 
to  be.  I  knew  what  might  happen  if  the  boys  were 
overtaken.  It  was  inevitable.  Well,  they  made  their 
choice  and  took  their  chance,  and  it  went  against  them. 
I  think  Gavin  will  tell  me  more  than  you  have  told  me — 
some  day.  Well,  this  is  the  end  of  a  good  many  things. 
I  was  merely  waiting  for  word.  To-morrow  I  am 
going  away." 

425 


426  THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

"There  is  no  need.     If  you  would  stay  with  us — " 

"I  am  just  as  grateful,  but  it  is  best  not." 

"It  may  be,"  he  admitted.  "Is  there  anything  I  can 
do?" 

"If  you  would  take  Finn?  He's  too  lively  for  Faith, 
but  he's  a  good  horse.  I  hate  to  sell  him  to  a  stranger." 

"I  will  buy  him." 

"You  will  not  buy  him.  Are  you  too  proud  to  do  me 
that  kindness?" 

"No.  I  will  take  him  and  give  him  a  good  home  all 
his  life." 

"Thank  you." 

"For  taking  the  gift  of  a  good  horse?" 

"You  know  better.  Finn  and  I  were  friends.  He — 
he  may  miss  me  a  little."  For  the  first  time  her  voice 
was  not  quite  steady.  "To  feel  that  way  about  a  horse  1" 
she  said  scornfully.  "Well,  it's  something  to  be  missed 
— even  by  a  horse." 

"I  shall  miss  you,"  Angus  told  her.  Her  eyes 
rested  on  him  gravely  for  a  long  moment. 

"I  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said.  "You  liked  me 
because  I  was  a  frank  sort  of  individual.  You  may 
think  of  me  now  and  then,  when  there  is  nothing  else 
on  your  mind.  But  as  for  missing  me — pshaw !  No- 
body will  miss  me.  I  had  no  friends." 

It  was  brutally  true.  Kathleen  French,  highly  organ- 
ized, sensitive,  proud,  had  repelled  friendships.  She  had 
hidden  real  loneliness  under  a  cloak  of  indifference. 
Apparently  sufficient  unto  herself,  others  had  taken  her 
at  her  own  apparent  valuation.  Her  voice  was  tinged 
with  bitterness.  Angus  realized  vaguely  a  part  of  the 
truth. 

"I  don't  think  anybody  thought  you  wanted  friends." 

"Everybody  wants  friends,"  she  returned.     "Often 


PEACE  42? 

the  people  who  want  them  most  have  not  the  knack  of 
making  them.  But  I  am  not  complaining.  I  have 
always  been  able  to  take  my  medicine  without  making 
a  very  bad  face." 

"You  are  a  clean,  straight,  game  girl,"  he  said.  "One 
of  these  days  you  will  marry,  and  your  husband  will  be 
a  lucky  man." 

She  smiled  for  the  first  time,  but  her  mouth  twitched 
slightly. 

"I  am  game  enough,"  she  said.  "I  suppose  that  goes 
with  the  breed — like  other  things.  Oh,  yes,  I  am  game 
enough  to  run  true  under  punishment.  But  as  for 
marrying — I  don't  think  so.  I  was  in  love  once — or 
thought  I  was." 

"I  didn't  know  about  that,"  Angus  said  in  surprise. 
"I'm  sorry  I  said  anything." 

"No,  of  course  you  didn't  know.  Nobody  did — 
not  even  the  man  in  the  case.  He  married  another  girl." 
"He  lost  a  mighty  fine  wife,"  Angus  said. 
"That's  nice  of  you.  But  heaven  knows  what  sort 
of  wife  I'd  have  made.  The  girl  he  married  will  suit 
him  better.  And  now  I  mustn't  keep  you,  Angus. 
Faith  will  be  waiting.  I  won't  see  either  of  you  again. 
She  hasn't  much  cause  to  love  me  or  mine,  but  she  has 
never  shown  it  by  word  or  look.  She  is  real,  Angus, 
and  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy,  both  of  you,  all 
through  life.  Some  day — oh,  a  long  time  hence,  when 
the  things  that  are  so  real  and  hard  now  have  been 
dimmed  and  softened  by  the  years — I  may  see  you  both 
again.  Till  then — good-by." 

Angus  took  her  strong,  firm  hand  in  his,  and  looked 
into  her  somber  eyes. 

"Good-by,"  he  said,  "and  thank  you  for  your  good 
wishes.     Good  luck  to  you  and  to  Gavin.     Tell  him 


428          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

that.  And  remember  that  anything  I  can  do  at  any 
time  for  either  you  or  him  will  be  done  cheerfully." 

"I  will  remember,"  she  said.  "I  wish  you  and  Gavin 
had  known  each  other  better.  You  would  have  been 
friends.  You  are  both  real  men." 

She  knew  nothing  of  Gavin's  connection  with  his 
father's  death,  for  that  was  one  of  several  things  he 
had  not  told  her.  Another  was  that  he  had  lied  to  Bush. 
He  had  said  that  he  had  found  no  trace  of  Gavin. 
Kathleen  stood  beside  him  as  he  mounted,  and  when, 
having  ridden  a  few  hundred  yards,  he  turned  in  the 
saddle  and  glanced  back  she  was  still  standing  where 
he  had  left  her,  motionless. 

But  as  the  French  ranch  vanished  from  view  Angus 
drew  a  long  breath.  It  was  more  than  the  relief  from 
the  performance  of  an  unpleasant  duty.  A  chapter 
seemed  to  have  closed,  the  old  order  of  things  ended,  a 
new  one  begun. 

Already  the  shadows  were  falling,  the  hills  purple 
black  against  the  west.  Well,  he  would  be  home  as  fast 
as  a  good  horse  could  carry  him.  Turkey  would  have 
told  Faith,  and  she  would  be  waiting  for  him.  He 
shook  the  big,  gaunted  chestnut  into  a  fast  lope^ 

But  at  a  sharp  bend  he  met  Faith,  almost  riding  her 
down. 

"Why,  old  girl!"  he  cried,  while  Chief's  hoofs  slid 
and  grooved  the  trail  and  the  reliable  Doughnut  side- 
stepped expertly.  "This  is  fine!" 

"I  couldn't  wait,"  she  said.  "I  have  been  waiting  too 
long  already.  So  when  Turkey  came  home  I  came  to 
meet  you." 

"We  had  to  travel  slowly.  And  somebody  had  to 
tell  Kathleen.  I  thought  it  was  better  that  I  should." 

"I  am  very  sorry  for  her." 


PEACE  429 

"So  am  I.  But  tell  me  about  yourself.  How  does  it 
feel  to  be  a  grass  widow?" 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you.  I've  been  worried.  I 
suppose  I've  been  silly.  But  Jean  will  tell  you  all 
about  that.  She  was  aways  telling  me  not  to  worry, 
cheering  me  up." 

"Has  she  made  it  up  with  Chetwood  yet?" 

"Well,  my  goodness!"  Faith  exclaimed. 

"Why,  they're  not  married,  are  they?" 

"No.  Why,  it  went  clean  out  of  my  mind,  but  this 
afternoon  when  I  saw  Turkey  coming,  I  ran  down  to 
meet  him  and  came  around  the  corner  of  the  wagon 
shed,  and  there  the  two  of  them  were.  And  they  looked 
as  if  they  had  been — well,  you  know." 

"Kissing  each  other?" 

"Yes,  it  looked  like  that." 

But  the  ranch  came  in  sight,  its  broad,  fertile  acres 
dim  in  the  fading  light.  The  smell  of  the  fresh  earth 
t>f  fall  plowing  struck  the  nostrils,  and  a  tang  of  wood 
smoke  from  new  clearing.  From  the  corrals  came  the 
voices  of  cattle.  A  colt  whinnied  in  youthful  falsetto 
for  his  dam.  All  sounds  carried  far  in  the  hush  of 
evening. 

"Seems  odd  to  think  this  will  be  broken  up,"  Angus 
said.  "Houses  and  streets  on  the  good  land;  maybe  a 
church  on  that  knoll,  a  school  over  yonder.  I  ought  to 
be  glad,  because  it  means  money.  But  I'm  not." 

"I  know,"  his  wife  nodded  wisely.  "I've  been  a 
wanderer  and  a  city  dweller  most  of  my  life,  but  I  can 
understand  how  the  one  spot  on  all  the  earth  may  claim 
a  man.  And  you'll  always  want  a  ranch,  and  stock,  and 
wide  spaces,  no  matter  how  much  money  you  have.  Oh, 
yes,  boy,  I  know." 

"I  guess  you  are  right,"  he  admitted.     "I  grew  up 


430          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

that  way.  Well,  there's  plenty  of  time  to  think  it  over. 
I  can  take  another  crop  off  this."  He  lifted  his  head 
and  sniffed  the  air.  "Old  girl,"  he  said,  "I  believe  I 
smell  grub — real  grub — cooking.  And  I  haven't  had  a 
real  meal  for  three  days.  We  were  sort  of  shy  coming 
out,  you  know." 

"My  heavens!"  Faith  cried,  "Turkey  said  the  same 
thing.  When  I  left  he  was  telling  Mrs.  Foley  he  would 
marry  her  for  a  pie.  Let's  hurry." 

Some  hours  later  Angus,  shaven  and  fed,  sat  with 
Faith  enjoying  rest  and  tobacco.  It  was  good  to  lie  back 
in  a  chair,  to  relax,  to  be  in  a  house  again  protected  from 
the  wind  and  .cold,  to  look  forward  to  a  comfortable 
bed  in  place  of  one  blanket  and  such  browse  as  could 
be  scraped  into  a  heap  as  a  dog  scrapes  leaves  and  rub- 
bish to  lie  on.  Though  he  could  sleep  anywhere,  by 
virtue  of  youth  and  a  hard  body,  he  appreciated  com- 
fort. 

Earlier  in  the  evening  Jean,  Chetwood  and  Turkey 
had  borne  them  company.  But  the  two  former  had 
gone,  followed  by  caustic  comment  from  the  latter.  And 
soon  after  that  young  gentleman  had  announced  that 
Angus  and  Faith  were  a  darn  sight  worse,  and  that  he 
was  going  to  bed. 

Left  alone,  Faith  spoke  the  thing  which  was  in  her 
mind. 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said,  "that  it  was  not  you  who 
£!led  Blake." 

"I  intended  to  kill  him,"  he  replied,  "and  I  would 
if  it  had  been  my  luck  to  come  up  with  him.  But  I 
think  I  am  glad,  now,  that  I  didn't,  though  he  deserved 
it.  Anyway  Paul  Sam  had  the  better  right." 

"The  poor  old  Indian!"  Faith  said  softly. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.     If  he  could  talk  about  it  he 


PEACE  431 

would  say  that  he. couldn't  die  better.  And  then  he 
was  a  Very  old  man." 

"But  life  may  be  sweet  to  the  old." 

"Yes.  But  when  a  man  is  alone,  when  all  of  his  blood 
and  the  friends  of  his  youth  and  manhood  are  gone, 
there  can't  be  much  to  live  for.  I  would  wish  to  die 
before  that  time  comes  to  me." 

"Don't  talk  of  dying."  She  shivered  a  little.  But 
the  chord  of  melancholy  in  his  being  had  been  struck 
and  vibrated. 

"Why  not?  Talking  will  not  bring  death  nearer,  nor 
stave  it  off.  'Crioch  onarach!'  You  have  no  Gaelic,  but 
it  means  a  good  finish — an  honorable  end  to  life.  And 
that  is  the  main  thing.  What  does  it  matter  when  you 
die,  if  you  die  well?  I  would  not  live  my  last  years  like 
a  toothless,  stiff,  old  dog,  dragging  his  legs  around  the 
house  with  the  sun.  I  would  rather  go  out  with  the  taste 
of  life  sweet  in  my  mouth." 

"We  have  many  years  before  us,  you  and  I,"  she  said. 
"I  think  they  will  be  happy  years,  boy." 

"They  will  be  largely  what  we  make  them.  I  remem- 
ber my  father's  words  when  it  was  near  the  end  with 
him;  and  he  was  a  hard  man.  The  things  worth  least 
in  life,  he  said,  were  hate  and  revenge;  and  the  things 
worth  most  in  life  and  more  in  death  were  love,  and 
work  well  done,  and  a  heart  clean  of  bitterness.  I  did 
not  think  so  then.  But  now  I  am  beginning  to  think 
he  was  right." 

"Yes,  he  was  right,"  she  said. 

Fell  a  long  silence.  At  last  Faith  took  the  banjo  on 
her  knee,  and  smiling  at  her  husband  began  to  pick  the 
strings  gently.  She  played  at  random,  snatches  of 
melody,  broken,  indistinct;  old  airs,  odd,  half-forgotten. 
Now  and  then  she  sang  very  softly. 


432          THE  LAND  OF  STRONG  MEN 

Angus  listened  in  utter  content.  He  seemed  to  have 
reached  a  harbor,  a  sheltered  haven.  Toil,  struggle, 
stress  seemed  far  off,  faint  memories.  The  spell  of  the 
home  was  upon  him  in  full.  Little  things — familiar 
furnishings,  the  backs  of  books,  pictures — seemed  like 
the  smiling  faces  of  old  friends.  It  was,  he  recognized, 
the  force  of  contrast  with  his  recent  experiences ;  but  it 
was  very  pleasant.  Softly  the  banjo  talked;  and  with 
the  haunting  murmur  of  gut  and  parchment  came  Faith's 
voice,  low  but  clear,  singing  to  herself  rather  than  to 
him. 

"  'Hame,  laddie,  hame,  an'  it's  hame  ye'll  come  to  me, 
Hame  to  yer  hame  in  yer  ain  countree; 
Whaur  th'  ash,  an'  th'  oak  an'  th'  bonnie  hazel  tree 
They  be  all  a-growin'  green  in  yer  ain  countree.' " 

For  a  moment  the  singing  ceased,  while  the  banjo 
whimpered  uncertainly  as  if  seeking  a  new  tune.  But 
it  steadied  to  the  same  air. 

"'If  the  bairn  be  a  girl  she  shall  wear  a  gowden  ring; 
And  if  it  be  a  boy  he  shall  fight  for  his  king — ' " 

Something  in  her  voice,  a  soft,  crooning  note,  caused 
Angus  to  stare  at  the  singer.  Up  from  the  throat  to 
brow  a  great  wave  of  color  swept.  But  her  voice  did 
not  falter: 

"  'With  his  tarpaulin  hat  and  his  coat  of  navy  blue 

He  shall  pace  the  quarterdeck  as  his  daddy  used  to  do!'" 

THE  END. 


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